


Dark Spaces Between Stars

by kurana



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Casual Racism, Daniel & Simon (Detroit: Become Human) are Twins, Dysfunctional Family, Growing Up, Homophobic Language, Human Simon (Detroit: Become Human), Human/Android Relationship, M/M, Slow Burn, retrofuturism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25005247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurana/pseuds/kurana
Summary: Simon Phillips is twelve years old when his parents buy a CyberLife android--one of the first on the market.  The new live-in babysitter creeps him out, but at least it means no harm.  It's even kind of friendly, in an earnest, clumsy way.As Simon grows from child to teenager, he forms a real attachment to Markus.  Simon suspects that Markus has human emotions.  But all machines break down over time--or worse, outlive their usefulness.An adult Simon tasks himself with finding out what happened to his childhood companion.  His search brings him to an abandoned freighter in Ferndale.
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 103
Kudos: 110





	1. Have You Seen a Horizon Lately?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dadwithsmallpp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadwithsmallpp/gifts).



> This is a fic where a human Simon falls in love with the android who looked after him as a child. Markus is not a parental figure to him, but more like a very underpaid au pair. No romantic feelings happen until Simon is a teen. Nothing physical happens until Simon is an adult.
> 
> I feel the need to warn for this and to establish what this is and isn't. It's (supposed to be) a human boy and a machine growing up together, each in their own way. But I don't want anyone who has stumbled across this to feel uncomfortable. So, I hope I've cleared things up. :)

"I'm just _saying_ ," Daniel hissed. "There was nothing wrong with the old house."

Simon squirmed in the back seat of the car. Sandwiched between the door, and his baby sister in the safety seat, he felt like a caged bird. He looked out the window at the road outside. The teeming evergreen trees were alien, racing alongside the car in a blur. The penthouse they were leaving behind didn't have pine trees. It did have a swimming pool, which Simon thought cool, although he was too afraid to go in without the babysitter.

John Phillips beat the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. Simon saw his forehead wrinkling in the rearview mirror.

"All my friends live back home," Daniel was saying. "If you guys want to move so bad, why don't you do it without me?"

"You know," John said. "I'm starting to question that myself."

In the passenger seat, Caroline stared at her lap, turning the pages in her magazine. Simon used the mirrors to inspect her next. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her lips were pursed in a permanent frown. Simon couldn't remember the last time she had said anything to him. Sometimes Simon thought she forgot they were related.

Daniel leaned across Emma. He jostled Simon's knee.

"Quit it," Simon murmured.

Their dad was stopping the car now. Daniel fussed with Emma's straps, unbuckling her. The two of them slid out first. Simon climbed out after them. His eyes adjusted to the sunlight.

The suburbs might have been another world entirely. Elm trees separated two-tiered houses. The lawns were wild, overgrown squares, personalized with tchotchkes: Bathtub Madonnas, little striped lighthouses. Sunlight came over the rooftops in hazy gold slats, like painted glass. It cut yellow strips out of the sidewalk. It warmed Simon's face, and the fire hydrant on the sidewalk. It resembled no fire hydrant Simon had ever seen. It wasn't vandalized.

The moving van was parked helter-skelter in the gutter. Big men carried boxes on their shoulders, hauling them up the walkway. Simon stared up the length of the house. The smooth, cream exterior reminded him of a seashell. A wisteria tree drooped in the front yard, purple, like a fresh bruise. Simon winced delicately.

"I get the biggest room," Daniel yelled, thundering past him.

Simon looked after him, bemused. He reached back for Emma's hand, walking her inside.

It turned out Daniel did get the biggest of the rooms, but only because the moving men had dumped his boxes inside. Simon felt reasonably confident their parents would want to trade. Daniel pushed the window open, sticking his head outside. Simon knelt on the floor and tied Emma's loose shoe.

"Hey," Daniel said. "There's a neighbor kid next door. I can see him stomping around his yard."

Simon stood up, rubbing his cheek. "There is?"

"I'm gonna go talk to him," Daniel said. "I want to know if he has an Atari."

He stampeded out the door the same way he had come.

Simon shook his head, contemplating the maelstrom that was his mirror image. He looked down at Emma, who had stuck her hand in her mouth.

"Hey," he said gently, tugging her hand free. "No biting."

Emma scuffed her little pink shoes on the floor. "I want princess cake."

Simon wasn't sure what a princess cake was.

"Okay," Simon said. "Should we...?"

Just then, his mother entered the room, looking windswept. She zeroed in on the children with dawning.

"Oh," Caroline said. "There you are."

She swept Emma into her arms, then strode out.

Simon was left alone in the room, awkward and aimless.

Simon was not a stranger to this weighted thing, the notion that maybe he didn't belong here: Maybe he had been dropped in on their lives, a cosmic accident. Everyone in his family had their places. Simon still couldn't find one. He was neither firstborn son nor darling daughter. A twin was a funny happenstance, the universe's way of saying _You're such an afterthought, I can't even give you your own face._

Simon walked out of his parents' bedroom. He looked around the first floor landing. One of the workers from the moving company elbowed past him, shuffling down the stairs.

Simon opened the doors around him, curious to see what lay inside. Emma's room was set up already, the little pink bed with the heart-shaped pillows, the vanity table no four-year-old wanted or needed. Their dad had set up his home office, too. Simon looked inside and saw him sitting at the desk, the cord to the rotary phone wrapped around his hand. He waved Simon away impatiently. The last room wasn't a bedroom at all, but a drafty staircase. Simon climbed it to the attic. Layers of grime covered the window, coloring the sunlight a dirty gray. Simon coughed at the dust motes in the air. He crouched by a box left behind by the old owner. He opened the top, peeking inside.

"Ball-joint dolls?"

He took one out, holding it up to the light. The little china doll had a smooth white face. It looked like a boy, blue bloomers, brown hair. A wind-up key stuck out of its back. Its arm was missing up to the elbow.

Simon set the doll on its feet. He wound the key sticking out of its back. The key broke off.

"Oh," Simon said, startled.

The poor thing, he thought, distraught. It was bad enough being broken. Being left behind was adding insult to injury.

"Daniel!" his dad yelled downstairs. "Get the door!"

Simon put the doll back in its box. It was no use pointing out Daniel was outside. He trudged back down the staircase, then down to the first floor.

He opened the front door and came face-to-face with a delivery man. The man took his cap off, scratching his head. He put it back on and thrust a clipboard at Simon.

"Sign for this thing," he said. "Will you?"

Simon looked over the man's shoulder. Behind him was an enormous white crate.

Simon looked down at the clipboard. He flipped it over, then handed it back.

"I'm twelve," Simon said.

The deliveryman gave him a harrowed look. "You want a pony? Just sign the paper, kid."

Simon looked over the invoice again. Both of his parents' names were on it, and their new address. It didn't look like a trick. He signed his name in an untidy scrawl. He gave the clipboard back. The deliveryman circled behind the crate, grabbing the dolly by the handle. He wheeled the heavy box in the house.

Simon said, "But what is it?"

The deliveryman dumped the box on the living room carpet. It crashed on its side with a resounding thud. Simon cringed.

The worker left the house, shutting the door. Simon didn't know what to think.

He was saved from taking any action when his father walked into the room. John patted his sides, then crouched by the crate.

"Do me a favor," John said. "Go wrangle your brother back here. Tired of him acting like he's the boss."

Simon, disoriented, went out the back door. The backyard was a tangle of weeds, crabgrass and wild mint choking out the dandelions. An old storage shed stewed silver in the sun. The rolling door looked like it was coming off its rack. Simon stood a while, looking at the sky, white clouds drifting like clean linens on a clothesline. It was a dry summer heat today, baking on his skin. It settled under his fingernails in a prickling itch.

He climbed the chain link fence to the next yard over. It was much neater than theirs, trim hedges surrounding an ivory birdbath. Daniel was sitting on the bench with a dark-haired boy. The boy chatted a mile a minute, kicking his legs.

"So anyway," said the boy, "that's why you don't want to watch Soylent Green."

He looked up, spotting Simon. He pointed excitedly. "You didn't tell me you were twins!"

"Shut it," Daniel said, standing up. "What do you want, Simon?"

Simon kicked at the dirt. "Dad says come home now."

The dark-haired boy stood up, too. "Can you guys read each other's minds? Is one of you really just a clone?"

Daniel stared at him darkly. "Bye, Leo."

Simon and Daniel walked back to their house. Simon watched the ground for cicadas.

Daniel sighed, swinging his arms. "I wish I didn't talk to that guy. He's annoying. He doesn't shut up."

Simon looked up, shrugging his shoulders. "I thought he seemed nice."

"Yeah, well, what do you know?"

They went in the house, Simon closing the door. Daniel stomped up the stairs, suddenly agitated. Simon had a hard time keeping up with Daniel's mood swings. Most days it was impossible.

He looked in on the living room. His mom was on the sofa, watching a game show.

He knew better than to join her. He dragged himself upstairs, looking for his bedroom. If his bed was made up, he was going to have a nap.

*

Simon hated waking up in a new place. He sat up in bed, the blanket slipping off his shoulders. His bedroom had no window. The wallpaper was that pattern everybody liked now, brown and orange waves. Cardboard boxes sat scattered on the floor.

A man was rummaging through his dresser.

Simon stared. The uninvited guest seemed none the wiser to his audience. He rolled a drawer shut, opening another. A laundry bin sat at his feet.

"Excuse me," Simon said.

The man turned around. Simon amended his appraisal: He looked much younger than Simon's parents. His elfin face was dusted with freckles. Startling green eyes sat above a round nose.

"Hello," Simon said awkwardly. "Are you robbing us?"

Simon wondered why a robber would begin with the undergarments. It seemed to Simon that undergarments should be left for last.

The man smiled warmly. Simon saw a blue light resting on his temple.

"Hello," said the man. "I'm your new household assistant. My name is Markus."

Simon said, "How did you get that light to stick to your head?"

Markus stared contemplatively at Simon. The light on his temple turned yellow.

Simon climbed out of bed. "Are you the new babysitter?"

Markus didn't seem to know how to answer. Simon drew a step closer. Markus was wearing a formal gray shirt and white trousers. The shirt was emblazoned with a glowing blue triangle.

Markus said, "Am I your first android?"

Simon thought he had misheard him. It must have been a joke. The only problem was his parents never told jokes.

Simon said, "Are you feeling alright? Do you think you might need to lie down?"

Markus' stare widened. "Why? Am I malfunctioning?"

"I don't know," Simon said. "I've never met you before. Did you just say you were an android?"

Markus smiled benignly. Just then, Caroline looked in the room, her lips pressed together thinly.

"Stop bothering the android," she said. "It can't work if you're talking its ear off."

She stalked back out the way she had come.

Simon had heard of androids before. He knew they worked in operating rooms, in airports. An old neighbor had complained about losing his job to one. Simon had imagined them as faceless, featureless, maybe a bit like the robots in Asimov's books.

He looked again at Markus. He felt dizzy. Markus finished putting his clothes in the dresser.

Markus faced Simon again. His smile looked like a permanent fixture.

Markus said, "Dinner will be ready at seven-thirty. I understand that you and Daniel are allergic to pork, and Emma can't eat red vegetables."

Simon nodded. He hesitated. "How did you know I'm Simon?"

Markus said, "I was given family photos to study. I noticed Daniel keeps his hair much tidier."

Simon ducked his head, annoyed. He flattened his hair with both hands.

Markus picked up the empty laundry basket. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

"Okay," Simon said. "Please don't come in my room without asking."

He waited until he was sure that Markus had gone. He stole next door to Daniel's room. Emma was sitting cross-legged on the bed. Daniel dug through the cardboard boxes, tossing clothes and his viewfinder on the floor.

"Where's my radio?" Daniel asked roughly.

"Dan," Simon said. "Mom and Dad bought an android."

Daniel straightened up. "I know," he said. "Did you see it? It's black."

"I don't know what that matters." Simon climbed up next to Emma. "I think he's the new babysitter."

Daniel's face twisted up in a scowl. "I liked the old babysitter fine. What was wrong with Tabitha?"

Simon blushed hotly. Nothing was wrong with Tabitha, except that their dad had liked to sneak off with her when she was supposed to be working. Simon figured there was less of a chance of that with a boy. Not a boy, Simon thought. A robot.

Daniel marched purposefully around the room. "We have to get rid of it. You can't trust androids, for starters. The Soviets are using them to spy on us."

Simon tilted his head. "I don't think they are."

Daniel kicked over an empty box. " _We_ can take care of Emma just fine. We're not babies anymore."

Emma reached over her knees, grabbing her feet. She giggled.

Daniel looked at Simon. "I mean, doesn't this bug you? That this thing is gonna be ordering us around, and it's not even human?"

What bothered Simon was that their parents would rather send a robot after them than engage with them. What bothered Simon was that somebody could build a robot that looked so human, Simon couldn't tell the difference. Could the robot tell the difference? Did he look down at his own skin and feel like a stranger? Maybe he longed for the smooth chrome and white plastic of the movies. How did movie makers even know that was what a robot was supposed to look like?

Simon heard a loud thump downstairs. He climbed off Daniel's bed.

"I'll be right back," Simon murmured.

He went straightaway to the kitchen, on a hunch. The colors were an assault on the eyes. The refrigerator and island were a flaming, flamingo pink. Markus crouched on the floor, where pots had spilled out of the bottom cupboard. He hastily picked them up. He looked up at Simon, the light on his temple spinning yellow. Simon's stomach lurched unpleasantly. There was no heart inside Markus, no bones. It all struck Simon as very wrong.

Markus' mouth was closed. From the way his eyes had flickered, Simon might have thought he was embarrassed. Alarm clocks and microwaves didn't get embarrassed.

Simon crouched on the floor. "If you put the bigger pots on the bottom, they won't spill out next time."

He stacked them neatly inside. He snapped the cupboard shut, standing up. Simon saw eggplant slices sitting on the counter.

He said, "Do you need any help?"

"Simon!" yelled his father in the next room. "Quit it with that fag shit!"

Simon's face burned with humiliation. He slipped out of the kitchen. The last thing he saw was Markus looking him over in scrutiny. His little light was still yellow.

*

Daniel brought his Auto Race with him to the dining table. He hid it on his lap, but couldn't hide the sound effects, the beeps and hums whenever he lost a game. Caroline wiped Emma's chin. John kept his mouth full. That way, Simon figured, he didn't have to talk to anybody.

The house was quiet, unsettling in the dark. The president said everybody had to go green now. That meant turning lights off when they weren't using them. The only light in the dining room came from a standing lamp. Simon felt like they were all under interrogation.

Simon put his fork down. "Where's the android?"

John looked at him. He swallowed, but didn't reply.

Simon finished first, carrying his dish to the kitchen. He walked upstairs to the attic and found the drawstring light in the dark. He knelt by the cardboard box, taking out the broken doll.

"You, too," Simon whispered. "Huh?"

He forced open the window and climbed outside. The roof tapered gently down to the storm drain. The gray tiles clanked when Simon crawled onto them. Simon sat down with his back to the window. He laid the doll on his lap. The stars looked like flickering white candle flames, bunched together on a coal-black river. It was hard to believe how far apart they really were. He reached up, touching two with his fingertips. He brought his fingers together, swallowing the distance.

Down below, the street lamps glowed fluorescent, buzzing like insects on the ends of crooked arms. The light washed out the sidewalks to a sterile white gleam. Simon thought of freezers in a 24/7 convenience store.

A clang in the gutter caught his attention. Simon looked down. Markus lifted the lid off the garbage can. He dropped the black trash bags inside. He put the lid back on, but it slid out of place. He caught it hurriedly, righting it again.

Simon thought: All the androids in the books he had read were perfect. They didn't drop pots or trash can lids. Maybe Markus was still adjusting to life outside the factory. Did androids go through growing pains, like humans did?

Or maybe, Simon thought, someone had played a trick on his parents. This wasn't an android at all, but some poor indentured boy, sold into servitude. Was someone holding his family hostage? Maybe he was complicit in the ruse.

Markus looked up. His eyes scaled the rooftop until they met Simon's. Even at a distance, Simon felt their weight. He wasn't sure he had ever seen eyes so green on a human face. The face he was making wasn't very robotic. His lips were parted, his jaw slack. Simon thought he looked surprised.

So that was it, Simon thought. This wasn't an android. That made it all the more tragic. If Simon didn't have a place in this family, what hope did Markus have? Pretending he wasn't human wouldn't make any difference. Most days, Simon didn't feel human, either.


	2. What A Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon still thinks Markus is secretly human, until a trip to the community pool proves otherwise. Simon and Markus meet a famous painter.

Simon's ice pop dripped on the pavement. The orange puddle sizzled in the sun. He licked what remained off the stick, wishing he had brought a napkin.

The door to the house opened behind him. Markus came outside, carrying Emma on his hip. Simon felt discomfited seeing them. Emma leapt down from Markus' arms, her pigtails swinging. She trotted over to Simon. Simon saw she was wearing her swimsuit, a pink one-piece with a frilly skirt.

"We're going to the pool!" Emma yelled.

Simon glanced carefully back at Markus. "We are?"

Markus smiled placidly. "Your parents have given me permission to escort the three of you to the community pool."

Simon stood up. He tugged on his t-shirt, green with a purple stripe. It used to be Daniel's, but Daniel hadn't wanted it.

Simon said, "I don't think you're an android."

Markus' light was spinning fast, blue at first, then cornsilk yellow. Simon wondered where he was keeping the batteries.

Markus' eyebrows furrowed. "I'm not?"

"Simon," Emma whined. "Can we go to the pool now?"

Markus smiled at Simon. "Would you like to go put your swimsuit on?"

Simon shook his head. "That's alright," he said. "I'm not much for swimming."

Daniel burst out of the house in swim trunks. He thrust his finger in Markus' face.

"Let's get something straight," he said. "You don't walk near me. You don't talk to me unless I talk to you. If you need something from me, you ask Simon. Got it?"

Markus stood back, his eyebrows climbing high. The light on his temple was red now.

"Dan," Simon muttered.

"Shut it," Daniel said. "It's miserable, having this thing tailing us. Don't you know Leo's android doesn't baby him? Not in public, anyway."

Markus' forehead was wrinkled. He didn't say a word.

"Come on," Simon said glumly. "Emma's going to get upset if we stand around any longer."

Markus led the walk through the quiet cul-de-sac. Emma tucked her hand in Daniel's. Simon looked around at the houses, wondering about the people inside. When people stepped out of his life, they went on living a different life elsewhere. Sometimes it bothered Simon. He might never know what had happened to his first grade remedial teacher, or the man who owned the video rental store at home. Something was deeply, fundamentally wrong with him: He couldn't grasp that strangers were supposed to stay that way.

Markus opened the gate to the community pool. Twenty screaming children were splashing in the water, parents sitting at tables with blue-and-white umbrellas. Daniel looked over at the tables with a glower.

"Stupid android," Daniel muttered.

Daniel missed their parents, Simon realized. Simon hadn't thought he could miss something he'd never had.

The changing rooms looked like the latticed wattle huts Simon had seen in drawings of medieval Europe. Their neighbor Leo came out of one, hiking up his swim trunks. He made a beeline to Daniel.

"You came!" he said toothily. "Want to play Marco Polo?"

Daniel shot him a sour look. "No."

Daniel took Emma to the kiddie pool to splash in the shallows. Simon stood awkwardly on the spot, rubbing his elbow.

Leo looked dubiously at Simon. "Uh, well--do you want to play?"

Leo would think him a baby if he said the water scared him.

"Maybe I can be the referee," Simon offered.

"Cool," Leo said unconvincingly.

Leo slipped into the water feet-first. Simon took his shoes off, sitting with his legs over the side. The coolness of it soothed him, but the texture was all wrong. He expected it ought to be heavier somehow, more mercurial.

He looked over his shoulder at Markus with a pang. Markus was standing stock-still on the concrete. His eyes flashed between the two pools, keeping track of both sets of children. Simon wondered whether his parents had forbidden him from going in.

Leo wrapped his hand around Simon's ankle, towing him underwater.

Simon panicked. Panicking, it turned out, was the wrong thing to do. The water rushed in over his head, into his mouth. It burned on the way down his throat. It filled his ears with white noise. Simon had heard once that people were mostly water. If that were the case, he couldn't understand why it kept trying to kill them.

A pair of arms hooked around his middle. His head crested through the water. He gasped for breath, his rescuer pushing him up on the concrete. He spat out a mouthful of chlorine.

"I'm sorry," he heard Leo saying. "I was just playing!"

Markus slithered out of the water on hands and knees. He bent on the concrete, his uniform sodden, dripping all over the pavement. His light was glowing a hot red.

Simon coughed, sitting up. He pushed wet hair out of his eyes. Markus was still bent over, until he spotted Simon. He crawled closer.

"Markus?"

Markus took Simon's shoulders. He checked him over frantically.

"Markus," Simon said quietly. "There's a lifeguard right over there."

She was sitting at the top of the tall chair, blowing her whistle. She waved furiously at Markus.

Markus looked over at her, then back at Simon. "I--I didn't know."

"You could have gotten hurt," Simon said. "Then she would have had to pull the both of us out."

Markus wrung his shirt out. His shoulders kept twitching.

Daniel trudged over to them, holding Emma's hand. He scowled at Markus. "What do you have to go and make a scene for?"

"It's okay," Simon said. "Really."

The more Simon thought about it, it was nice that Markus jumped after him without thinking. Most people wouldn't have done that for him. Simon stood up, thinking what to say. Markus climbed to his feet. His arms were wrapped low around his stomach.

Simon looked at him. "Are you alright?"

Markus' eyes were very wide. "It got in me."

"What did?" Simon asked. "The water?"

Markus nodded. He pushed his shirt up, revealing a flat, brown stomach, splashed with freckles.

He dug his fingers into his stomach. It slid apart, water gushing out. His insides glowed blue.

"Holy shit," Daniel hissed.

Simon thought weakly: There was no denying that Markus wasn't human. He felt queasy as he peeked inside him. The metal piping reminded Simon of the bottom of a kitchen sink. There were packets in there, too, pouches of blue liquid, and a single, spinning gear.

"Hey, um," Leo said. "I don't think you should open up your junk at the public pool."

Daniel picked Emma up. "Let's go. This isn't fun, anyway."

Leo glanced at them. "Wanna go to the movies? Jaws is playing."

"Okay," Daniel said. "Come on, Simon."

Simon looked back at Markus. Markus was staring down at his stomach, his worry poorly veiled.

Simon touched his elbow. "Did something get broken?"

"I don't know," Markus said distantly. "Water's not supposed to go in there."

Simon wanted to ask: Then why had he jumped in a five-foot pool? He didn't need to. He scanned Markus in his entirety, his broad shoulders, his collegiate body. He suddenly saw the truth as his makers would never tell it.

"You're just a kid," Simon said.

Markus knew almost nothing about the world around him, except that he had just been born into it, and it was scary.

"Simon," Daniel said. "This is boring. I'm taking Emma to the movies."

Simon glanced back at him. "I think Markus needs a repair shop."

"Are you kidding right now? He looks fine!"

Markus snapped his stomach shut. His eyes had gone hazy.

Simon shook his head. "He's under warranty. He's got to be; they just bought him. I'll take him to the shop, and then we'll meet up at home. Don't tell Mom or Dad we split up."

Daniel opened his mouth to protest. "But--"

Markus started, too. "I'm under instruction to watch the three of you."

Simon walked backwards. He tucked his hands behind the small of his back.

"If we split up," he said, "how do you know who to watch? You'll just have to decide for yourself."

He shouldered his way through the pool gate. The sun baked his skin, his hair sticking to his cheeks. It settled over him in a dry breath.

A moment later, he heard Markus' footsteps behind him. He looked back to see Markus gazing up at the treetops, disoriented.

Simon hid a smile. "I don't remember if I said thank you. Thank you."

Markus looked at him. He nodded distractedly.

Simon struggled for a conversation topic. He didn't understand how socializing came so easily to the rest of the human race.

"Do you sleep at night?" Simon asked. "Or are you just awake all night long?"

Markus was smiling. Simon suspected it was programmed in him, the need to look perpetually pleasant.

"I have a sleep analogue," Markus said. "I shut down for two to three hours to archive and free up memory."

"Do you dream when you're asleep?" Simon asked. He kicked a loose pebble on the ground.

Markus shook his head. "My substrata are still active. I can respond to commands, if given. But my personality protocols are all suspended. I don't know how to describe it."

Simon thought about it at length. "I think I understand. It's like when I fall asleep in class, and the teacher wakes me up. I can sort of remember what she was talking about, but I'm never sure it wasn't a dream."

Markus looked at him. "Why do you fall asleep in class?"

Simon put his head down, embarrassed. "School is hard," he said quietly.

They crossed the street to a short sidewalk. A family stepped out of the convenience store, carrying lemon ices. Next door was the CyberLife repair shop. Simon opened the door. The ceiling fan was spinning, ABBA on the radio. The brown and white floor tiles were a dizzying mosaic.

A man with a bad perm walked over. "Ah, jeez," he said. "Don't trail water all over! I hate mopping!"

Simon gave him a confused look. Their clothes were mostly dry now, the sun having done its work.

Simon told the clerk what had happened to Markus at the pool. The clerk pulled a stool over and sat down. He made Markus open up his stomach compartment, shining a flashlight inside.

He whistled. "RK200, huh? Your mommy and daddy must be loaded, kid."

Simon said nothing. He watched the clerk wipe Markus' insides with a coarse cloth. It was somewhat gruesome, but he wanted to see. If Markus got in trouble again, Simon wanted to be able to help him.

Markus winced at a particularly hard scrub. Simon wondered: Could he really feel it? Or did he just not enjoy having a stranger's hands inside him?

"Jeez," said the clerk again. He closed Markus' stomach up. "Imagine how embarrassing this would be if it got out. CyberLife's newest domestic model, and it jumps in a frigging pool."

Simon shrugged. "He thought I was drowning."

"The thing ain't waterproof, kid. Shit. Maybe I oughtta poke around in its skull."

"No," said Simon, alarmed. "That's fine. We've got to go home now, anyway," he lied.

He rushed Markus out of the store. Children were kneeling on the sidewalk, coloring with blue and yellow chalk.

Markus glanced sideways at Simon. "Would you like me to take you to the movie now? I believe you've missed the first forty minutes."

"No," Simon said. "Thank you. After today, I'm not in the mood for oceans or sharks."

He hoped Daniel had had the sense to take Emma to a different movie. He didn't know how to explain it to their parents if she went home crying today.

*

Simon and Markus arrived home before Daniel and Emma. Simon knew they couldn't go inside just yet. If Caroline was home, she would want to know why the four of them had split up.

Simon took Markus out to the overgrown backyard. He crouched down among the weeds.

"I know they're unsightly," Simon said. "I expect Mom'll want you to cut them all up. Still, I feel bad for them."

Markus tilted his head. "Bad? Why?"

Simon said, "They're not trying to be invasive. They're just trying to live."

A man stepped into Leo's backyard. His hair was black, like Leo's, although it was thinning on top. He took a long drag from a cigarette.

He spotted Simon and Markus with a wry smile. "Afternoon, you two. I almost forgot we have new neighbors."

Simon straightened up, feeling shy. "Hello, sir."

Leo's dad squinted at them. "What are the two of you doing over there? Doesn't look very entertaining."

"Yardwork," Simon said.

Leo's dad raised his eyebrows. "With your hands?"

Simon felt his face heating up.

Leo's dad dropped the cigarette. He crushed it underfoot.

"Come inside," he said. "We have shortbread cookies."

Simon began to protest, out of obligation.

"They're not going to eat themselves, you know," said Mr. Manfred, stepping through his open door.

Simon looked back at Markus. Markus was smiling, unbearably agreeable.

Simon said, "Can you tell if a cookie is poisoned?"

"Yes," Markus said. "And because of the proximity to lunchtime, I can only allow you to eat two."

"Two poisoned cookies?" Simon asked.

Markus' temple light flashed a quick yellow.

"It's a joke," Simon said. "Never mind."

Simon knew he wasn't very funny, but he might have thought he'd get a smile.

*

Carl Manfred's house was something from a dream. Simon looked at the ceiling and thought it was the sky. Someone had painted clouds up there, so soft, so yellow, Simon almost thought they were moving.

Mr. Manfred followed Simon's eyes. "It was a pain in the ass to pull off," he said. "But worth it, don't you think?"

Mr. Manfred had foregone wallpaper in favor of bookshelves. Every wall was covered in hardbacks, some of the spines coming apart. Simon could smell the old books from a distance, the delicious meeting of wood pulp and vanilla.

Mr. Manfred took Simon and Markus to the living room. A woman had just laid the cookies on the coffee table. She was wearing a uniform like Markus', her hair tied back in a brown ponytail.

"It's hard, you know," Mr. Manfred said. "Raising a boy without a feminine touch. Especially one as unruly as Leo. Back in my day, boarding schools were in vogue. But I suppose post-war sentiments have changed."

Markus looked at the cookies on the table. "They're not poisoned, Simon."

Mr. Manfred burst out laughing. Simon tried to disappear in his seat.

Mr. Manfred talked to him for a while about summer homework. Simon was happy to report he didn't have any. He was not looking forward to spending his last year of middle school in a new environment, learning a completely different social hierarchy. Talk eventually turned to Mr. Manfred's work.

"You ever paint anything, Simon?" he asked.

"No, sir," Simon said. "I'm not very artistic."

"Everyone is artistic," Mr. Manfred said. "The difference is what you mean when you say 'art.'"

His android picked up the cookie tray, carrying it to the kitchen. Mr. Manfred showed Simon and Markus his studio, the canvases covered in tarps. The glass walls made it look as if they were still outdoors. There was even a babbling brook nearby, which Simon thought comforting to look at. Nobody ever drowned in a brook.

"Your father," Mr. Manfred said. "He's that hard-nosed city councilman, isn't he? Running for mayor in October?"

"Yes, sir," Simon said.

"Says some very disparaging things about his constituents. Makes me wonder what he says in private."

Simon didn't know how to respond. It was probably a bad thing that he couldn't defend his father.

Mr. Manfred gave him a weary smile. "Just remember," he said, "my door's always open. Leo could probably do with an influence like you."

He looked past Simon and over at Markus. "Do bring your android. I've often thought Kara could benefit from talking to another android. Who knows what goes on in their heads?"

The front door slammed open. "Dad! I'm hungry!"

Simon took that as their cue to leave. If Leo was home, so were Daniel and Emma. He led Markus out through the backdoor. He heard the cicadas in the elm trees, calling out in reedy voices.

They went in their house, Markus taking to the kitchen. Simon thought they both smelled strongly of chlorine. He wondered how Markus did his cleaning if he wasn't waterproof. He sat under the kitchen table, on the linoleum floor.

"They didn't want kids," Simon said. "I can tell."

Markus cut up carrots and ginger, tossing them in the pot. He turned on the gas burner.

"Everybody who's somebody has a family," Simon said. "Even Jimmy Hoffa. It's like you have to have kids and a house and a wife before people trust you. But you can do anything you want to them, as long as people don't see. You can scream at them for talking too loud. Or you can make them stand out in the snow because they made you mad, then forget they're out there."

Markus lowered the heat on the stove. He knelt under the table.

"I don't want to have a family when I grow up," Simon said. "I'm not very good at yelling."

Markus turned around. He pressed his back against Simon's. Simon wasn't sure what he was doing. It felt a little bit like they were whispering secrets on a schoolyard.

Simon said, "At night, I look at the dark spaces between the stars. I know there are planets out there I can't see. Every star has one. I think maybe I came from one of them, or maybe I'm on the wrong one. I wonder how I can get on the right one again. But I don't think there's a way. I think I'm here for good."

"Humans have gone to space," Markus pointed out. "I have all the Apollo transcripts in my head."

Simon listened to the soup bubbling on the stove. It sounded a little like a witch's cauldron.

"Can you read one to me?" Simon asked.

Markus straightened up. Simon felt him shifting against his back. The solid presence of him was surprisingly comforting.

"We are now approaching lunar sunrise," Markus said. "For all the people back on Earth, the crew of Apollo 8 has a message that we would like to send to you.

"In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep."

Simon closed his eyes. He could almost imagine what the moon looked like up close. It must have been like magic, its gleaming white skin, the deep craters on its cold face. Up there, you couldn't even see the stars.

Simon pressed back against Markus' shoulder. His voice was soothing, Simon thought. It came more slowly now, faraway, as if filtered through five feet of water.


	3. Death of Samantha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins turn thirteen. Simon grows up a little too fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter where Simon is tiny, RIP
> 
> Simon walks in on a sex act (of dubious consent) later in this chapter. It's brief, but just to be careful, the section where it begins and ends will be **typed out in bold.**
> 
> Just want to apologize in advance bc this is kind of a dysfunctional family...

Simon came downstairs and saw party streamers on the wall, blue and yellow. A tin foil balloon was weighted on the coffee table. "Happy Birthday!" read the side.

Caroline rushed into the living room. She adjusted the big lens on her camera.

"Where's your brother?" she asked.

Simon tried in vain to flatten his hair. "Still getting changed, I think."

Caroline nodded stiffly. "Tell him to hurry up. These photos are going out to all our friends."

There was no point telling Daniel to hurry up. Simon knew by now that he lived life at his own pace. Simon made a show of walking upstairs, counted to ten, then walked back down. He stepped in the kitchen, where Markus was busy multitasking. Markus stood in the middle of the floor, feeding Emma pineapple slices. He swiveled on a point, turning to the stove, and finished frosting a strawberry shortcake. "Happy Birthday, Daniel!" it read.

"Good on you," Simon said. "Dan doesn't like ice cream cake."

Markus put down the piping bag. "Why is your family celebrating Daniel's birthday, and not yours?"

Simon smiled feebly. "We were born on different days. Dan was 11:44 at night. I was 12:03 in the morning. My birthday's tomorrow."

Markus' eyes widened. Simon wanted to laugh at his expression. He looked like a deer in headlights.

Simon said, "Do androids have birthdays?"

Markus smiled blankly. "I don't believe so."

He was about to ask why, when Daniel stomped into the room. Daniel's face was red with anger. His white shirt was buttoned up to the neck, his slacks navy blue.

"I hate this," Daniel said. "I hate them."

Simon patted his shoulder. "All you have to do is pose for a few pictures. It'll be over before you know it."

"Here," Emma said.

She thrust her pudgy, sticky hand at Daniel, offering him a piece of pineapple.

Even Daniel couldn't help but smile. "Well, thanks. I'll treasure it."

He put it back in her bowl when she wasn't looking.

Caroline called everyone into the living room, where John was packing tobacco into his pipe. She forced her camera into Markus' hands, then scooped Emma off the floor. She plastered a smile on her face. Daniel and Simon shuffled awkwardly to her sides. John crowded close, his hand on Simon's shoulder. It was too tight.

Markus took three photos of them in front of the fireplace. He took a fourth of John pretending to cut the birthday cake. When Markus was finished, John tossed the knife down on the table. He unbuttoned his cufflinks.

"Your present's under the table," John said.

He went upstairs to his study. Simon listened closely and heard the door shutting, the lock clicking.

Daniel's eyebrows drew closer together. His lower lip trembled. Simon couldn't tell if he was going to throw something, or cry.

Simon looked at their mom now. He thought: This was all wrong. She had to see it. But if she did, she didn't say. She went in the kitchen to make a phonecall. Simon heard her laughing with whoever was on the line.

Daniel crawled underneath the coffee table. His cake was sitting on top, cheery and pink, the candle flickering in layers of whipped cream. He slid back out from the table, holding an unwrapped box. He stared blankly at the top of it.

"Oh," said Simon, trying to be supportive. "You've got an Atari now."

Daniel punched the box. "I don't want a goddamn Atari."

Simon crouched behind him, squeezing his shoulders. "Don't say that. Maybe it's got Space Invaders on it."

It did have Space Invaders on it, and even Combat, which Simon thought too violent to play with Emma in the room. Daniel gloomily set the console up, ignoring his cake. Markus carried Emma upstairs for a nap. He came back downstairs, his LED red, his eyes on Daniel. Simon had the idea that Markus wanted to say something to him. Of course, he couldn't. Daniel had ordered him not to talk to him. Simon felt frustrated for the both of them.

Markus instead looked at Simon. "Caroline has given me a list of party favors to purchase. Are they for your birthday?"

Simon buckled down with Daniel on the carpet. "No," he said. "I don't know what they're for, but they're not for me."

Markus paused. "I will be out of the house for half an hour. I'll return as soon as I've finished shopping."

"Shut up," Daniel grumbled.

Simon felt so sorry for Daniel, he let him win at Combat five times. He didn't even mind when Daniel, a sore winner, stood up and declared that Simon had been demoted from twin brother to second cousin twice removed.

*

The following morning, Simon found Markus standing in the kitchen, staring at the refrigerator. A yellow post-it note was stuck beside the door handle. Simon recognized his mother's small, immaculate handwriting.

It said: _Gone to meet with important political donors. Took the baby with us. Won't be back until seven. Order takeout--no MSG._

Markus turned slowly to face Simon. "They left you on your birthday?"

Simon took the milk carton out of the refrigerator. He contemplated a glass, then decided against it.

Markus' LED was a solid red. Simon had learned that this never portended good things.

Simon took a drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What's the matter?"

"It's your birthday," Markus said.

"I know," Simon said. He put the milk back.

"But they aren't here," Markus said.

"I know."

Daniel dragged himself into the kitchen. He banged open the cupboard doors in search of cereal.

"Leo's coming over," Daniel said. "We're gonna play Space Invaders."

"Oh," Simon said.

The console only came with two controllers.

Daniel stood on his toes, trying to reach the Golden Grahams. "You don't mind, do you? I mean, you don't even like video games." He reconsidered. "I guess you can play the loser."

"That's alright," Simon said. "I'm going to do some reading, anyway."

"If you're sure," Daniel said skeptically.

Markus stole the cereal box from his grubby hands. He put it away and cooked them eggs.

Simon consigned himself to a quiet morning in his bedroom. He settled down on his bed with a copy of Buck Rogers. He spent a few minutes rifling through the pages, trying to find his place.

He was not expecting the door to open, Markus on the other side. His LED was still red. His hands were frozen mid-air, as if he had forgotten to knock. Simon remembered that he had asked Markus not to come in his room.

"You can come in," Simon said. "Did you need something?"

Markus stepped inside. He looked around with a kind of placid emptiness. Simon wondered what it was like to have a machine mind doing his thinking. Were there times when Markus didn't think at all? Were there subjects Markus wasn't allowed to think about?

Markus treaded carefully across the room. He came to a stop in front of the record player on top of the dresser table.

"Do you want to listen to something?" Simon asked. "I like Yoko Ono. I think people just don't like her because she married John Lennon. Approximately Infinite Universe is a really good album."

Markus moved on. He came to the standing cabinet beside the nightstand. An empty fish tank stood on top.

Simon said, "Mom went through a phase where she had to have pet fish. She would forget to feed them, though. I started feeding them. I liked taking care of them. It felt a bit like I had something important to do."

Markus walked away from the nightstand. He opened the closet door. He took out a hanger bearing a gray shirt.

"Markus," Simon laughed, bewildered.

Simon watched Markus put the hanger back. What was he doing now? There was something almost alien about the way he moved. Simon couldn't tell what he was thinking. It looked like he was making a case study of the bedroom. Poor Markus, Simon thought, that he didn't have a more interesting subject at his disposal.

Markus abruptly strode out of the room. Simon stared after him long after he had gone.

"You dumbass, Leo!" rang Daniel's voice up the staircase. "Now I have to reset the whole game!"

Simon suppressed a pang of loneliness. He picked up his book, but couldn't remember where he had left off.

*

Twenty minutes later, Markus returned, hiding his hands behind his back.

Simon put his book aside. He sat up straight. "What's wrong?"

Markus stepped trepidatiously into the room. "I don't have any money," he began.

Simon felt confused. "I thought Mom and Dad gave you access to their accounts."

Markus said, "I don't have any money of my own. I couldn't buy you anything."

He produced his hands from behind his back. He was holding the broken wind-up doll from the attic. It wasn't so broken anymore. Its arm had been fitted back in its socket, the key neatly in its back.

Markus' LED flickered between yellow and red. "You were always playing with it, even though it couldn't play back."

Simon stood slowly from the bed. It seemed impossible. Markus was trying to give him a birthday present.

Markus tucked the wind-up doll in Simon's hands. Simon turned it over, inspecting it in the light. His throat felt tight, his eyes suspiciously hot.

"No one's ever..."

Simon lowered the doll. He smiled weakly at Markus. He was not going to cry, he told himself. Only babies cried.

Simon sat on the bed with the doll. "Don't you think this is kind of like your ancestor?"

Markus tilted his head. He drew a step closer.

Simon laid the doll on his lap. "Wind-up dolls are like the first androids. That's what I think. They were made to look like humans. They can even move around without us moving them. All they need is a little push first."

Simon patted the spot beside him on the bed. Markus reluctantly sat down. He rocketed up again, staring at the mattress. He pressed it with his hand, testing the springy give.

Simon smiled at him. "I guess you're not used to sitting down much. Are you?"

Markus shook his head. He must have decided it was safe. He sat again beside Simon.

Simon peeked at him. "Do you think--"

Markus smiled faintly. "What is it?"

"Well," said Simon. "I don't want you to think it's dumb. But I want to give you a birthday present, too."

Markus' little light was yellow again. "It's not my birthday."

Simon tucked his hair behind his ear. "I know. But I met you on June 8th, so it's kind of like that was your birthday. I just didn't think it was at the time."

Simon opened the drawer on the nightstand. He took out a paperback book.

He hesitated. "I don't know if you like to read."

Markus looked him over, contemplative. "I don't know if I like anything."

Simon gave the book to Markus. A sleek metal man was lying on the cover. _The Bicentennial Man_ , it said.

Markus' eyes were perfect circles. He flipped through the pages of the book.

Simon felt shy now. "The robots in that book are kind of weird. But I think you'll like it, anyway. It just goes to show you people have been thinking about you for a long time."

Simon said, "They couldn't have guessed you'd be like this, though."

Markus shuffled backwards, his back against the headboard. He flipped to the inside of the front cover.

"Oh," he said.

Simon leaned over to see what the matter was. The inside of the cover read, "Property of Simon Phillips."

Simon jumped off the bed. "I'll fix that. Let me find a pen."

He roamed around the room, aware that Markus' eyes were following him, sizing him up. Simon didn't mind. He found himself thinking that this was the best birthday anyone, anywhere, had ever had.

*

A week later, Simon found out why his mom had sent Markus to buy party favors. She dressed herself in her nice pink skirt suit, sprayed herself with awful perfume, and rounded all three of the children up in the living room.

She smiled as if it pained her to do it. "Mr. Manfred is going to watch you three until tomorrow morning. Be on your best behavior."

Daniel eyed her darkly. "Where are you going? Why can't the _android_ watch us?"

Caroline pressed her lips together, her mouth disappearing. " _We're_ not going anywhere. _You're_ going next door. Your father and I are having a grown-up party."

Simon grimaced with recognition. Grown-up parties were the ones where their dad's political friends came over and gorged themselves on hors d'oeuvres and champagne. They congratulated themselves on all the money they had given him, then gave him some more.

Simon wondered what one man could need with all that money.

Daniel folded his arms. "Well, maybe I don't wanna leave. Maybe I wanna drink booze, too."

Caroline laughed shrilly. "I'd give you the entire cabinet if it kept you quiet, but there's a funny little thing called the law. Go upstairs and pack an overnight bag."

She looked more softly at Emma. She leaned down, her hands on her knees. "Be a good girl for Mr. Manfred, okay?"

Daniel snatched up Emma's hand. He towed her swiftly away, leaving no debate who she belonged to.

Simon always felt funny staying the night at a stranger's house. On the other hand, he supposed Mr. Manfred wasn't a stranger anymore. He went to his bedroom, took out a duffel bag, and put his pajamas and toothbrush inside. He regrouped with his siblings on the front lawn. Daniel was holding Emma in both arms. Caroline took them next door to Mr. Manfred. As soon as he opened the door, she smiled broadly, like she was somebody else. Their mom never smiled at them that way. Their mom never smiled at anyone that way, except people who didn't know her, so they would think she was nicer than she was.

A moment later, she had gone. The door shut with finality. Simon and Daniel and Emma stood on the threshold, staring at Mr. Manfred and Leo and their android, Kara. Simon felt in the middle of a Mexican standoff.

Mr. Manfred smiled winsomely. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Who wants to go throw paint at a wall?"

Daniel perked up. "Yeah, I'll do that!"

Mr. Manfred must have been a child in disguise. There was no other explanation for his insouciance. He took the children to his studio, where he handed them tubes of washable paint. Emma transformed into a tyrant. No surface, no body was spared her wrath. Simon learned the hard way that washable paint still burned when it got in your eyes.

One thorough eye wash later, he helped Kara wipe down the walls. Daniel and Leo left to play with Leo's newest toy, a Simon Says. They found the name so hilarious, they laughed about it on their way up the staircase.

Simon kept stealing glimpses of Kara. She had a light on her temple like Markus', serene and blue. Simon wondered what androids thought of one another. Did Kara think about Markus at all? Simon was sure that Markus had thoughts. If Markus had thoughts, he also had feelings. Feelings were just thoughts with biases behind them. Simon wasn't sure who had first said that, but it sounded true.

Simon went on thinking about Markus in the living room, where Kara put on Willy Wonka, and Daniel and Leo and Emma curled up on the couch. Simon wondered what his parents were putting Markus through. Probably they were making him pour drinks. It didn't seem fair that he had to wait on them. Maybe Markus would have liked to watch the movie, too.

Simon shifted restlessly on the carpet. He patted down his pants pockets.

He bolted upright.

Daniel kicked lightly at his shoulder. "What? You gotta pee?"

"No," Simon said. "No, it's--"

He hadn't packed his wind-up doll. It was the worst thing he could have done.

Daniel sighed loudly. "Pipe down, will you? I wanna hear the song."

Simon scrambled off the floor. He made his way through the foyer. If he hurried, he could be back before the end of the movie.

He went out the door, climbing the fence to his backyard. Simon knew he couldn't walk through the front door. His father would box his ears off if he found out. Simon opened the storage shed, dragging out the heavy ladder. He propped it against the side of the house. He scaled the ladder to the roof and pushed the window up. With effort, he slithered his way inside.

The wind-up doll wasn't in the attic. It wasn't in his bedroom, either. Simon turned his drawers inside-out. He shook his pillow out of its case. The sound of laughter wafted up the stairs, accompanied by a plinking piano. Simon's parents didn't own a piano. He wondered why adults liked that music, the nondescript jazz that played in restaurants and elevators. It wasn't anything you could sing along to.

Carefully, Simon crept out the bedroom door. He held his breath at the top of the landing. The doll was lying halfway down the staircase. He must have dropped it in his haste to leave the house.

Simon took the stairs two at a time. He ducked into a crouch and grabbed the doll. Before he thought better, he peeked into the living room.

 **His parents' friends** **were moving** around the room: clutching their drinks, hugging the wall. Markus stood in the very center. The most unusual thing about him was what he was wearing: nothing. Simon had never seen him so exposed. Simon wanted to look away, but couldn't. His freckles covered the expanse of his skin. Convincing genitals hung between his legs. Simon didn't know what an android needed with those.

His parents' friend, a woman, reached over and grabbed them. Simon couldn't hear what she said. The next thing he knew, she was laughing. Somebody else joined in. Simon saw his dad step around the sofa, elbowing her. His dad was laughing, too. The sound of it thundered in Simon's ears. His stomach was turning, spots in his eyes. A wave of sickness coupled with overwhelming despondence. Simon hadn't known a sadness like this existed.

Markus was staring at the ceiling. He didn't move at all, not at the hands on his penis, or the touches to his chest. Simon half thought it was a nightmare. Markus broke the spell when he turned to look at the staircase. His eyes met Simon's in an instant. His LED **was solid red.**

A jolt of fear shot down Simon's back. He stood from his hiding place. He raced up the stairs.

He holed himself in the attic, leaning against the door. The splintered wood muffled the sounds of the party. Simon wanted to leave, but couldn't. He couldn't think. He slid down the door, crouching on the balls of his feet. It was one matter when he thought his parents were ineffective. To learn that they were evil meant he had never really known them. He had never known what kind of house he was living in. He scarcely even knew himself.

*

Simon stayed in the attic until proper night fell. The moon came rushing in through the window, a snowy ghost, lighting up the wall where cables were stapled. Footsteps sounded outside the door. Simon hoped it was one of his parents. He wanted to scream at them, to ask what they were thinking--although he wasn't sure, even now, if he knew how to yell.

The door swung open. Markus came inside, dressed in his uniform, his temple light blue. He stood next to Simon and folded his legs, sitting in a heap beside him.

Markus said, "Are you mad at me?"

Simon's head shot up. "Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?"

Markus shifted around. "I couldn't tell by looking at you."

Whatever he felt didn't matter, Simon realized. All that mattered was what Markus felt.

Simon asked, "Were you scared?"

The glow from Markus' LED bathed the room in yellow.

"I don't know," Markus said.

Simon knotted his fingers in his shirt. He had never felt afraid of his parents before, not like this.

Simon said, "Did you like it? What was happening?"

The yellow glow was steady, unwavering. Simon wondered if the insides of stars looked this way.

"No," Markus said. "I didn't like it."

Simon saw very clearly that no one was going to protect Markus. No one would want to protect Markus. Markus was only a machine.

"Okay," Simon said quietly. "I'll make sure they don't do it again."

Markus looked at him, eyes wide. "I can't disobey an order."

"Don't worry," Simon said. "You don't have to."

What a wonderful thing a machine was. It took only two months to know Markus in his entirety. You couldn't do that with a human, Simon thought. Sometimes, thirteen years weren't enough.

*

If Simon told his parents what he had seen, nothing would come of it. Simon might get punished for snooping. Simon getting punished wouldn't protect Markus from being treated like a toy.

The next day, at noon, Simon stole into Emma's bedroom. Emma was sitting at the vanity table. She brushed her Barbie doll's hair, singing a made-up song.

Simon closed the door shut. "Do you want to hear a secret?"

Emma threw the Barbie down. Emma liked few things better than secrets. Sharing them made her feel grown-up.

Simon swallowed an onslaught of nerves. A sickly part of him felt ashamed at involving her.

Simon leaned down, whispering in her ear. "Markus has a pee-pee."

Emma burst into giggles. "Gross!"

"He does, though," Simon said. "You saw it."

Simon knew she would believe anything he told her. All he had to do was tell it the right way.

Emma grinned, squirming in her seat. "I did?"

Simon nodded. "You saw it at the party yesterday. Remember? When you sneaked back into the house."

"Oh, yeah," Emma said. "I saw it at the party."

Simon pulled back. "But you can't tell anyone. Remember? It's supposed to be a secret."

Not a full five minutes later, Emma charged down the staircase, overjoyed.

"MOM! DAD!" she yelled. "MARKUS HAS A PEE-PEE! I SAW IT AT THE PARTY!"

It took until the end of the day before their parents called CyberLife and installed Markus with parental locks. All his adult protocols were suspended. Caroline begged Emma to stop using that word, especially outside the house. Nothing she said did any good. "Markus has a pee-pee" became Emma's catchphrase for a whole week, until she discovered Saturday morning cartoons, and decided she was the Pink Panther. Simon supposed their parents were relieved. Cats were not in the habit of talking, pink or otherwise.

*

Simon sat under the wisteria tree. The weeping boughs surrounded him in tendrils of lilac rain. The hazy sun peeked through the petals, blistering and white. He shielded himself with the back of his hand.

He set the wind-up doll on its feet. Gently, he turned the key in its back. The doll paced back and forth in the grass. Simon listened closely to the creaking of the weather vanes, the distant flight of summer birds. He heard the mechanical whirring in the doll's joints.

Markus came and sat behind Simon. He leaned up against him, their backs pressed together. Simon listened again. He couldn't hear the whirring.

"Want to make a promise?" Simon asked.

Markus nodded his head. Simon felt it against his neck.

Simon said, "I promise whenever you're in trouble, I'll find a way to help you. No matter where you are, or what it is."

The wind-up doll bent over at the waist. The key stopped clicking in its back. Its arms dangled from its shoulder sockets, slender and wooden.

Markus said, "What should I promise?"

Simon took the doll on his lap. "Promise you'll wait for me, I guess."

Markus never answered him. Simon hadn't really expected him to. The important thing was that he understood. Simon had never had a friend before. He didn't know what friends were supposed to do. He didn't mind making it up. He didn't mind moving the earth apart to keep the one he had.


	4. What Did I Do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon is sixteen when he discovers he might like boys. Unfortunately, so does his family.

The roof of the school was caged in white. The chain link fence climbed as high as the clouds, a wall of slate dust. The fiery sun lit the edges of them pink. It looked like the ocean was in the sky. The clouds tumbled together in a turbulent roll. The wind sounded like the tide, warm and rushing in Simon's ears.

Simon sat with his back to the water tank. The concrete scraped against his jeans. He propped his math book open on his knees, scouring the pages for insight. Nothing was more confusing than numbers, the way they jumbled together on the page, refusing to fit. Simon didn't want to take summer school this year. He had heard that software engineers were good at math. The people who had made Markus could tabulate polynomials in their head. Maybe they understood him better for it. Simon wanted to catch up.

The door screeched open beside the water tank. A stocky freshman ambled out, swinging his arms. Simon had seen him in the halls before--Gavin, he thought he was called. Maybe Calvin. He looked like the type to befriend imaginary tigers.

Gavin stalked closer, jeering. "Hey, fagshit."

Simon looked up. Ignoring tormentors just made them angrier. Simon wondered where all that anger came from. It must have been very tiring.

Gavin dropped down beside him. "Got a light?"

"No," Simon said. "Sorry."

"What good are you, then?" said Gavin.

Simon looked down at his book. The numbers kept jumping out of order. He wished he could make them sit still.

"Hey!"

Gavin slapped the book out of Simon's hands. Simon flinched. He reached for it where it lay on the concrete.

Gavin grabbed him by the shoulder. He crushed their mouths together.

Simon became aware of the traffic down below, the rush of tires on black asphalt. His body seemed to him an extraneous thing. He identified with the rise of the clouds, the tufts pulling apart at the seams. He thought longingly of math problems.

Gavin pulled away. His eyes were blown wide, like he couldn't believe himself. A ruddy red splotch suffused his cheeks.

He hauled his fist back and punched Simon in the face.

Stinging pain bloomed below Simon's eye. It spread like fire through his lip. His hands fell behind him on the roof. Gavin stood up, looming over him.

"Don't you tell anyone," Gavin said shakily.

Simon ran his tongue over his teeth. He tasted blood. He cradled his cheek with a numb hand.

The school bell rang through the closed door. Gavin bolted through it like he was running for his life.

*

Simon stood outside the school, looking up the length of the building. It resembled a penitentiary. Up high, where hands couldn't reach, the bricks were dirty. Iron bars sealed the windows. The light above the door flickered like an SOS in Morse code. Simon empathized.

Daniel clapped him on the shoulder. "Alright," he said. "Let's hit the road."

Simon turned to face Daniel. Almost nobody would have mistaken one twin for the other. Daniel had spent the last three years growing leaner, narrower in the face. His eyes were hooded. Simon was broader in the shoulders, a finger's width taller.

Daniel's eyes widened. "What the hell happened to your face?"

Simon touched his aching lip. "A freshman punched me."

"A freshman--" Daniel stared. "I skip school for _one_ day, and you're already getting pushed around by small fry."

They walked together down the sidewalk. Across the street, the mannequins in the shop window wore cowls and witches' hats. Dry ice breathed mist out the swinging door. The baker placed pumpkin cakes in her window, cheery and orange.

Simon looked up at Daniel. "It wasn't one day."

Daniel frowned at him. "What?"

Simon shifted his backpack up on his shoulders. "It wasn't one day," he said. "You skipped school to get high with Leo last week, too."

Daniel's face darkened like a stormcloud. "We can't all be perfect, like you."

They crossed the street to a four-way intersection. A bell clanged loudly, striped gate rising, train rushing down the gravel. The top of it belched noxious black plumes. The treetops shivered with copper light. Simon remembered the saffron buns their grandma used to bake on holidays. It wasn't fair, Simon thought. He remembered the color, the pungent scent, but not her face.

Daniel led the way past the peeling water tower, the cold gray apartment spires. The highway rose on the horizon, a long snake.

Daniel snorted. "What'd you say to him to make him punch you?"

"Nothing," Simon said. "He kissed me."

Daniel stopped in his tracks. A dog barked in the distance.

Daniel seized Simon's shoulders. "What the hell did you do to make him think you wanted that?"

Simon took a step back. "I didn't do anything," he said, alarmed. "I was studying."

Daniel shook his head. "Don't give me that! A guy doesn't just--just _do_ that! What did you say to him?"

Simon was starting to feel afraid. "I didn't say anything. I swear."

Daniel began to walk again. Simon still felt uneasy. He reached out, grabbing his elbow.

"Don't tell anyone," Simon begged. "It's not going to happen again."

"Shit," Daniel hissed. "Are you gay?"

"No," Simon said. His heart was racing. "Of course I'm not."

They stepped at last into their cul-de-sac. One of the houses bore fake cobwebs on the door. Simon was surprised the HOA didn't fine them.

Daniel unlocked the door to their house. He dropped his bookbag in the foyer, for posterity's sake. He stretched his arms in a soundless yawn. Simon stepped out of his shoes. He treaded across the plush carpet, padding into the living room.

Emma was kneeling on the carpet, schoolbooks spread open on the coffee table. She chewed on her pencil, wearing down the eraser. Markus crouched beside her. He coached her through her homework problems with varying success.

Simon felt something warm unfold in his chest. He smiled. "Good afternoon."

Markus looked up fast. A grin spread across his face. It fell when he locked eyes with Simon, his light flashing yellow. He stood up, crossing the carpet to Simon.

"Who did that?" he asked.

Simon's face must have looked worse than he'd guessed. "Nobody," he said. "Just a classmate."

Markus gently took his elbows. "Come on. Let's clean that cut before it gets infected."

He towed Simon into the kitchen, where the light was better. He sat him down at the table. Simon watched him leave and come back with antiseptic and a washcloth.

Simon balled his hands on his knees. "It's only a cut," he said weakly.

Markus wouldn't listen to reason. He dabbed at Simon's lip with the damp cloth. Simon winced.

Markus folded the cloth over. "Your eye's going to swell up."

Simon affected a smile. "If you blacken the other one for me, I can go as a raccoon for Halloween."

Markus looked taken aback.

Simon patted his knee. "It was a joke."

Markus gave him a serious look. "I would never punch you in the face, Simon."

"I know," Simon said. "Don't worry. I trust you."

John Phillips came home at a quarter to six, bleary-eyed, his suit rumpled. He tossed down his briefcase and loosened his necktie. Caroline peeked in on him from the sun room. Simon thought she looked older than she was, worry lines creasing her face.

John collapsed on the sofa. "That clown we've got in the mayor's office is making it impossible to get anything done. Chrysler's going bankrupt if he doesn't cut the shit."

Caroline twisted her hands together. Simon felt as if an icy blanket had settled over them. The mood in the house was tense whenever John came home. Simon felt a little sorry for him. He had built his life and family around one ambition, and it had fallen through.

John caught sight of Simon. He squinted his eyes. "What happened to you?"

Simon shifted on the carpet. "I got in a fight."

Markus stepped up beside Simon. "Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes, sir."

John waved him off with a dismissive hand. He dropped his head in his hands, squeezing his temples.

Dinner that night was solemn in the dining room. No one wanted to talk, except Caroline, who tried and failed to get John's opinion about the Detroit Lions. Simon thought she was brave. Markus moved behind their chairs, spooning mushroom gravy onto their plates. Simon whispered him a thank you.

John put his fork down. "Daniel."

Daniel looked up at him, startled. "Yes, sir?"

John stared at him in silence. Then he said, "How many times this month have you cut school?"

Daniel flushed, looking bewildered. "I--haven't," he lied.

"You're throwing your future away," John said. "You realize what you're making me look like?"

Daniel glowered at his dinner plate. He mumbled something Simon couldn't catch.

"Daddy," Emma said. "Leave him alone."

"How do you like that?" John asked. "You've got a little girl defending you. Feel like a man now?"

"Daddy," Emma complained.

John shook his head. "How did I wind up with the most worthless kid on the planet?"

Daniel pushed his chair back violently. "At least I don't go around kissing boys, like Simon does!"

He had succeeded in casting aspersions off of him. All heads turned Simon's way.

Simon felt the warmth draining from his face. He couldn't bring himself to look at Daniel.

John stared at Simon. "Is that true?"

"No," Simon said sinkingly. "I didn't kiss anybody. He kissed me."

All John seemed to hear was the word "kiss."

"Go upstairs," John said.

Simon looked at him. "Sir?"

John shook his head, pulling at his shirt collar. He sighed, and laid his chin on his hand.

"I can't even look at you," he said. "So I won't. You stay in your room until morning. I'll decide what I'm doing with you tomorrow."

Simon's ears were ringing. He wondered if he had misheard. How could he be punished for something he hadn't done?

"Go," John said. "I'm not playing with you, Simon."

Simon cast a helpless look at Daniel. Daniel refused to meet his eyes.

Simon stood up. He turned to leave, his heart pounding. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Markus following him.

"You stay put," John said. "He's not a baby."

"But he hasn't eaten."

"That's his problem. You don't go after him, Markus. That's an order."

Simon climbed the stairs, his hand sliding against the banister. His blood was rushing in his ears, a sickly tide.

He pushed open his door, stepped inside, and closed it. He sank down on the bed. The cloistered silence of the room was an oppressive shroud. He kneaded his eyes with the heels of his hands. In his mind's eye, he saw it: that freshman boy coming closer, his hand stealing Simon's shoulder. He saw the way Daniel had looked at him afterward. It was a harrowing way to learn his twin didn't like him. He must never have forgiven Simon for stealing his face.

*

Simon dozed into a fitful sleep. He couldn't say how long it was before the door was opening, rousing him. He sat up, pushing the hair from his eyes. Markus slipped into the room.

Simon stared after him, worried. "What are you doing here?"

Markus closed the door soundly. He crossed the floor, carrying a plate to Simon. "You didn't eat."

Simon felt his stomach clench. He took it, trying to smile. "I don't think one night will kill me."

Markus sat next to him on the bed. The house was so quiet, Simon thought everyone must be sleeping. He pushed the asparagus around until the gravy ran over it, a muddy brown mess.

Markus said, "Is kissing somebody so bad?"

Simon put the plate on his nightstand. "It is if you're a boy kissing another boy."

Markus' face was wrought with concern. It seemed impossible, but it was true. A deep groove had wrinkled the space between his eyebrows. The freckles around his nose and eyes were bunched up. Simon wanted to smooth them out with his hands. He felt very sorry to cause him so much trouble.

Markus said, "What did it feel like?"

Simon pulled at a loose thread on his blanket. "Like somebody wanted me. Even if it was just a moment."

Markus' mouth parted. He closed it again, his LED spinning yellow.

Simon smiled apologetically. "I didn't mind it," he confessed. "I didn't like that it was Gavin. But I didn't mind that it was a boy."

That was it, then. Something was terribly wrong with him. His parents would find out and disown him. They finally had the impetus they needed to downsize.

Markus' hand covered Simon's. Simon looked down at the place where they met. It amazed him that Markus' hand felt so human. The warmth of it was identical, the soft texture, the firm give. A freckle sat underneath his first knuckle. Simon felt unreasonably fond of it.

Simon came back to himself with dawning. "What are you doing in here? I thought Dad ordered you to stay away."

Markus looked at him with soft bemusement. "There was a red wall," he began slowly. "You were on the other side of it. I couldn't get to you. So I pulled it down..."

Simon couldn't say he understood. "Don't let them find out you came here. I don't want you to get in trouble."

Markus' hand closed around Simon's. "You have to eat."

Simon moved to stand up. "I'm going to leave," he said. "For a little while."

He padded out onto the landing. The house was pitch black, deafening with silence. Simon felt his way down the staircase. He opened the closet in the front hall. He pulled out a pair of skates, sitting on the carpet. He loosened the straps.

Markus' shadow fell over him, inquisitive in the moonlight.

Simon fitted the skates over his shoes. "Do you want to come? You can use Dan's pair. He never wants to skate anymore."

Markus' LED flickered blue in the darkness. "I wasn't installed with that function. I don't know if I can."

Simon smiled at him. He wondered if he could see it. "Then I'll teach you."

Markus hesitated visibly. He crouched so he was sitting beside Simon on the carpet. Simon fished out a second pair of skates.

"Here," Simon said.

He took Markus' legs, straightening them out. He laid Markus' feet across his lap. Simon slotted the metal skates over Markus' shoes.

Simon's eyes adjusted to the darkness. Markus' little light kept spinning, blue and whimsical.

Simon looped the straps around Markus' ankles. He held up a tiny metal key.

"You use this to tighten them," Simon said. "That way, they don't fall off. But if you lose the key, the skates are useless."

He tightened the skates, then handed the key to Markus. "Hold onto this," he said softly.

Markus put the key in his pocket. Simon stood up, holding onto the wall. He turned in time to see Markus clambering to a stand. His foot slid out from underneath him.

Simon grabbed his hand, steadying him. "You'll be alright. I won't let you fall."

Simon opened the front door. He pushed his way outside.

The cul-de-sac looked like a ghost town by night. The cars parked in the gutter were the only sign of life. A dry wind brushed through the treetops, rustling the gray leaves. The street lamps spilled white light down Simon's back. It was the kind of light Simon thought he could feel: on the surface of his skin, in the hollows behind his teeth. It left a clammy chill inside his clothes.

He started down the walkway, holding fast to Markus' hand. He heard the frantic scrabbling of Markus' wheels on the concrete. He turned around, grabbing Markus' shoulders.

"Here," Simon said. "Hold onto my waist until you feel comfortable."

Markus' eyes flashed up to Simon's. Simon realized they were the same height now. Growing up felt a little like breaking out of a chrysalis. His head, his long arms were tearing through the precious silk. Once it was gone, it was gone from memory. Soon he wouldn't remember the way it had gleamed, the smell of the long summer.

Markus' hands were tight on Simon's waist. Simon felt the warmth of them through his shirt. Simon wondered what it was like to stay in the same skin your whole life.

Simon skated backwards. "What do you think about, during the day?"

Markus kept his eyes on the ground. "Think?"

"I know you have thoughts," Simon said gently. "I just don't know what they look like."

Simon carefully turned around. Markus' hands clamped onto his hips. Simon skated past the mailboxes on the curb. Telephone wires stretched over their heads, skinny, sagging from the tops of the wooden poles.

Markus' voice came from behind him. "I think about the day's tasks. I think about how not to make your parents mad at me. I think about the weeds in the backyard. I wish there were somewhere I could put them, so I didn't have to kill them."

Markus paused. "I think about what you're doing in school. I don't know whether people are being nice to you. I guess now I've got my answer."

Simon's stomach felt strange. "It's not always so bad."

Markus let go of Simon's hips. Simon looked over his shoulder. He watched Markus push forward, slowly, on his own. Soon they were side-by-side.

"What about you?" Markus asked. "What do you think about during the day?"

Simon slowed down to keep pace with Markus. "How hard math is. How far away the clouds are. And you. I think about you a lot."

"Me?" Markus asked, sounding nonplussed.

"You must be bored," Simon reasoned. "All you do is cook and clean and run errands. You've never even been to school."

Markus said, "It doesn't sound like I'm missing much."

Simon laughed. In the stillness of the neighborhood, it was loud, resounding.

Not long later, Markus zipped ahead of Simon. Simon made a dash to keep up.

They skated out of the cul-de-sac, onto the commercial streets. The video rental store was glowing with its blue awning, its yellow windows. Cars were parked in the big lot beside it. The orange lampposts looked like cigarette stains.

"Markus," Simon said. "Do you ever think about being free?"

They waited on the street corner for the light to change. Markus glanced sideways at him. Simon couldn't see his LED from this side.

"Free?" Markus asked.

Simon said, "If you didn't have somebody telling you what to do, what would you do?"

The question seemed to stump Markus. He said nothing, even when the light changed, and they crossed the street. A sign on the road advertised the highway. Simon followed it.

The highway stretched endlessly in either direction. The mirrors on the guard rails caught the headlights from the cars, the floodlights above the billboards. Simon tugged on Markus' hand. He skated on the foot path beside the fence. The cars rushing past tossed a chilly breeze their way. Simon's face felt chapped.

Simon sat down on the hard black tar. He wrapped his fingers around the guard rail. The hill dropped steeply on the other side. The city unfolded below like a half-finished storybook. Simon saw houses with broken roofs, motor plants with smashed windows. It was one of those neighborhoods Simon's mother wouldn't let him near. The wrong kind of people lived there, Caroline said. Simon didn't know how a person could ever be wrong.

Markus sat down next to him. Their legs pressed together.

"I want to run away," Simon said.

It started as a joke. But the more he thought about it, the more appealing it was. Michigan was a very large state. He didn't even have to stay in Michigan. There had to be somewhere where he wouldn't feel like a stranger.

Markus reached down, taking his skates off. "Where should we go?"

Simon felt the earth stop moving, the ground skidding to a halt. He couldn't go anywhere without Markus. He couldn't go anywhere with Markus. Running away together amounted to property theft.

Simon rubbed his eyes. "Did you know I've never cried before?"

Markus placed his hands on his knees. Simon felt Markus watching him.

"I see it on TV all the time," Simon said. "People cry when they're sad. But I've never cried before. Not even when I was little. So maybe I've never really been sad."

Markus looked over the hillside. "That's not true."

Simon shook his head. "You're the best person I know, and I still can't cry. Even knowing the way you live. I don't know what's the matter with me."

Markus faced him on his knees. "Why should that make you cry?"

Simon kneaded his sore eye, just to feel something. "Because I'm sad."

"Over me?" Markus asked.

Simon nodded. He watched the fence lighting up in the traffic, red, then white.

Markus' hands came down on Simon's shoulders. Simon felt the gravity of them, a kind weight.

"I'm not sad," Markus said. "I get to see you everyday. Most people can't do that. There are four billion humans in the world, and most of them will never meet you."

Markus said, "Maybe you should feel sorry for them instead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this they joined the roller derby and were never heard from again


	5. Is Winter Here to Stay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon doesn't attend a school dance. His feelings become a little clearer.

When Simon was seventeen, Mr. Manfred from next door asked him to bring Markus for a visit. Mr. Manfred took Markus to his studio. He placed him before a blank canvas on a tall easel.

"Maybe you can help me with something," Mr. Manfred said. "You see, I've been trying to find the soul."

Simon looked up the length of the canvas. "The soul?" he asked.

Markus was quiet, his face expressionless. His light was an unaffected blue.

Mr. Manfred leaned against the windowed wall. "We are living in the most soulless generation of our time. Is it any wonder young people are looking for their God in a syringe? Sometimes I wonder whether we shouldn't just sit down and wait for the inevitable heat death of the universe."

Simon didn't know what to say. He didn't believe in the hereafter, let alone the metempsychosis of the soul. People ought to have been kind to one another just because they were alive, the rarest thing in this universe to be.

Mr. Manfred handed Markus a palette. He smiled quietly.

"You know," Mr. Manfred said. "Artists have been trying since the genesis of art to replicate the soul. Lord knows I've had a shake at it. But maybe it's not up to us. Do you see that painting over there?"

He nodded at a small canvas over by the sinks. The fresh painting depicted a daisy, photorealistic, but simplistic.

"That's Kara's," Mr. Manfred said. "I don't think she quite understands what I'm asking her to do."

Markus' LED turned yellow. "What are you asking me to do?"

Mr. Manfred turned back to him. "I'd like you to think about the earliest memory you have. Can you see it? Are you holding it in your eye?"

Markus closed his eyes. His light flickered a fleeting red. He opened his eyes.

"Go back even earlier than that," Mr. Manfred said. "Back to the assembly line, if you have to. Paint for me the first thing you see."

Simon didn't think it was a very fair prompt. How could Markus remember earlier than his earliest memory? He was about to intervene, when Markus touched the brush to the canvas. His hand moved in deft strokes.

It seemed somehow a personal thing, like Simon wasn't meant to be here. He watched Markus' hands instead of the canvas. He realized they were beautiful for what they facilitated. They tucked Emma into bed at night, packed her lunches in the morning. They stroked Simon's hair sometimes when he was sick. Simon didn't know what Markus' hair felt like. It hadn't grown, hadn't changed at all in four years. Markus was like that in some ways. Those were the outliers. In most ways, Markus was the fastest growing creature Simon knew.

Markus stepped back from the canvas. Everyone crowded close together, glimpsing the painting.

Simon didn't know how to describe it. It was a large, fractal snowflake, containing within it seemingly infinite, identical snowflakes. Every point of the snowflake was itself in miniature. It was a symmetry nature couldn't aspire to. Simon felt like he was looking at the ghost of something.

Mr. Manfred perused the painting. "What is this?"

Markus looked it over, too. "It's my neural network, sir."

Simon drank in the sight of it. The points of the snowflake seemed to expand before his eyes. They could have gone anywhere, Simon thought, become anything. They could have encompassed everything if they wanted. Markus was exactly like that. Simon wondered why he hadn't seen it before. His machine mind was the apogee of human innovation.

Mr. Manfred struck a match for his pipe. "Lucky," he commented. "I'd give anything to know the shape of my consciousness. Might save the human race a lot of agonizing if we could all peek inside ourselves."

*

It was snowing when Markus and Simon left Mr. Manfred's house. Simon took the scarf off of his neck. He wrapped it around Markus'.

Markus looked at him with confusion. "Computers work fine in the cold. It's only the heat that's dangerous."

"I know," Simon said mildly. "But that doesn't mean you have to be uncomfortable."

Markus walked Simon to his parttime job in Greektown. Snow powdered the tops of the old church spires, spindly and bronze. It coated the pavement in a fine, slushy paste. They walked past the movie theater, the glowing posters out front. Casper's First Christmas was playing.

Simon nudged Markus' side. "Did you like painting?"

"I don't know," Markus said. He hesitated. "I liked that you were there."

Simon ducked his head, hiding a smile. His face felt warm in the cold.

Markus opened the door to Smith & White, a department store. Androids were standing in the shop windows, modeling the latest fashion line. Simon felt uncomfortable seeing them. They couldn't leave if they wanted to, even to work in a different store. Their smiles were plastic, serene. Simon had never thought of a smile as a cry for help before.

Markus unwrapped the scarf from his neck. He tucked it around Simon's. Simon was too touched to point out he couldn't wear it on the cash register.

Markus took a step back. "I'll pick you up tonight?"

Simon liked the way he made some things sound like questions. He didn't think other androids did that.

"Okay," Simon said. "I'll wait, then."

"Okay," Markus said.

He took another step back. His mouth opened and closed. Simon wanted to laugh, or maybe pull him into a one-armed hug.

"Bye, then," Simon said lightly.

Markus turned around. He strode out the door, the bell chiming above him.

Simon went in the back room, where he took his uniform out of his locker. He stepped into it, then sat for a while on the bench. His chest felt warm and oddly weightless. It must have been the holiday season.

*

At six o'clock, Simon's boss let him take a break. He bought hot chips from the vending machine and ate them in the dingy break room. ABBA In Concert was playing on the tiny TV, resplendent in bright, relentless color. Simon thought of the ambiguity of black and white, when people wondered whether Lucille Ball was a natural redhead.

Tina Chen from school was in the break room, too. She worked in the Junior Miss department, where she divided her time between folding sweaters and looking bored. She dropped down next to Simon on the depressed sofa. She knocked her knee against his.

"Hey," she said. "Want to go to the girls' choice dance with me?"

It was the first time they'd spoken in four years.

"Oh," Simon said awkwardly. "I'm not Daniel."

Tina looked at him. "I know. You're the gay one. You won't try to touch my boobs when we dance."

Simon's face was burning. He didn't know what to say.

Tina grabbed the remote for the TV. "You don't have to if you don't want. I figured we could go to the dance, take photos for our parents, then sneak out and meet up with our girlfriend and boyfriend. Ashley goes to school in Brightmoor."

All Simon could say was, "I don't have a boyfriend."

Tina looked him over critically. "Then definitely go with me. I have a few people I can introduce you to."

Simon folded his hands over his knees. If his father found out, he might make good on his promise and turn Simon out.

"Well?" Tina prompted.

"Okay," Simon said.

Tina patted him on the shoulder. She got up, striding out of the room.

Simon went back to work, his blood rushing in his ears. His boss let him off a half hour early, business unusually slow. While he was waiting for Markus, he saw an android lugging garbage bags outside. It looked like heavy work. He tentatively followed her out in the cold. She put the bags down, opening the dumpster.

"Do you need any help?" Simon asked.

She tucked her short hair behind her ear. She smiled blankly at him, but never responded.

Simon wondered, not for the first time, what made Markus so different from other androids. Almost since their first meeting, Markus had been an individual. Simon reflected: Maybe the difference was the way he had been treated. The androids at Smith & White were worker drones. Probably no one showed them kindness. Simon didn't know if he was a kind person, but he hoped he was. He hoped he had never treated Markus unfairly.

Simon looked up at the glass roof between buildings. Gentle snow rained on the webbed panes. The night sky beyond it was already black. This early in winter, there were so many stars, they lit up the dark spaces between them. Orion's Belt stretched across the sky in a glittering chain.

Simon looked next door at Bellini Paints. The door swung open, merry light spilling on the pavement. A couple walked out, arm in arm.

Simon had an idea.

*

Markus arrived the way he always did: with an air of bewilderment, as if he had found his way by accident. Simon wished it were socially acceptable for androids to wear coats. He looped his scarf around Markus' neck. He held up a white shopping bag.

"I got you something," Simon said. "I know it's not Christmas yet, but I couldn't wait."

Markus' LED was red. He reached for, but didn't take, the bag.

"Why?" Markus asked. "It's not my birthday."

Simon looked at him patiently. "I know. I was thinking about you, that's all."

Markus asked, "Where would I even keep it?"

"In my room, if you want," Simon said. "Or in the attic. Nobody goes in there."

He held the bag out resolutely. Markus took it. Markus peeked inside.

His LED blinked yellow. "Colored pencils?" he asked.

A sketchpad, too. Simon would have liked to buy him paints, but they were expensive.

Simon said, "I just thought you might like it. You'd have something to express yourself with."

He added, "You don't have to if you don't want to."

Markus clutched the bag closer. Maybe he was afraid Simon would take it away. Simon didn't know whether to feel sad, or hopelessly fond.

The walk home was silent, the snow crunching under their shoes. Simon finished the last of his chips, then crumpled the bag in his coat pocket. He thought it was a shame he couldn't share them with Markus. There were a lot of things he would have liked to share with Markus: the swoop in his stomach at the top of a roller coaster, or what a dream felt like after waking.

Simon took out his house key. He unlocked the front door. Markus grabbed his arm before he could open it.

If Simon hadn't known firsthand that Markus was a machine, he would have doubted it. Markus' hand was as warm as a furnace. His heat traveled up Simon's shoulders, down his spine. Simon wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

"I can't..."

Markus' eyebrows drew together. He pulled his lip between his teeth. The gesture was so human, Simon felt afraid: not of Markus, but of what he might become, what people would do to him if they found out.

"I can't buy you anything," Markus said.

Simon shook his head. "You don't have to."

"I want to," Markus said. "But I can't."

Simon paused. "Why don't you use my money, then?"

Markus' eyebrows climbed. "Your money?"

It was so cold outside, Simon's breath left him in a mist. Markus' didn't.

Simon smiled. "I don't have much of it, but you can use whatever you want. Would that make you happy?"

Simon couldn't read Markus' face. His light glowed pale blue in the darkness. Simon took it for a good sign.

Simon led the way inside the house, hanging up his coat. Daniel and Emma were on the sofa in the living room. Emma had fallen asleep already, her head on the arm rest. Daniel's eyes were glazed over.

Markus went upstairs with the shopping bag. Daniel sat up straight, his knees to his chest. He stared at Simon.

"Hey," he said.

Simon shifted on his heels. "Hello."

The living room was a shadowy enclave. The TV cast blue light on the walls. "Crisco," it said. "Flaky even on the bottom."

Daniel scratched behind his ear. He dropped his gaze on the carpet.

Simon took the stairs after Markus. His heartbeat pounded in his stomach. He wondered why he felt like he was going to be sick.

*

The following night, Emma wrinkled her face at Simon. "You're going dressed like _that?_ "

Simon looked down at his outfit, jeans and a plaid shirt. He scratched his cheek sheepishly.

"It's Sadie Hawkins," he said. "Everyone dresses like this."

Emma scoffed at him, lounging on his bed. Her fashion lectures were an increasing phenomenon. A mere nine years old, she had discovered the art of the sideways ponytail. She was an expert now.

Emma said, "Your girlfriend's gonna dump you. That's what I think. You'll lose your only chance to have babies."

Simon stared at her. "Is that a very time-sensitive matter?"

Markus knocked on the open door. He was carrying a laundry basket on his hip.

He said, "Does either of you have anything for the wash?"

"No," Emma said, sitting up. "Markus, guess what? Simon's going to a dance with a _girl!_ "

Markus looked fast at Simon. He lowered the laundry basket.

Emma jumped off the bed. "Markus, can I have a sandwich?"

Simon crept dejectedly out of the room. Downstairs, red smoke drifted out of the kitchen. Daniel and Leo were getting high again. Simon had no idea where his parents were. He hadn't seen them in two days.

A car horn beeped outside. Simon put his coat on and left the house.

Tina's car was a beater with a huge antenna. She sat in the front seat, her tape deck playing New Wave. Simon slid into the seat next to her. She took a drag from a joint, then offered it to him. Simon shook his head.

They drove to the school, where they spent barely ten minutes in the gymnasium. Simon watched in astonishment as their principal commandeered the karaoke machine. They left straightaway for Westwood Park, two neighborhoods over. The houses out here were gloomy with disrepair. Whole stretches of them were boarded up. Black garbage bags were tied around the parking meters, except for one, which was bent in half.

Tina's house was a mobile home with planters in the window. Simon followed her warily inside. A girl who might have been her big sister was sitting in the front room, cradling the phone. The living room was at the back, half a dozen people crammed inside. Simon didn't recognize most of them. He felt inordinately shy.

Tina flopped down on a girl's lap. She ignored Simon for the rest of the evening.

Simon had never felt so uncomfortable. He was debating walking home, when the boy in the armchair caught his eye. Simon recognized him; he sat next to Simon in history. He was black, and had the softest eyes, the sweetest smile. Simon's stomach flipped over.

"Hi," said the boy.

"Hello," Simon said.

Somebody passed around a bottle. Simon didn't know what was in it. He politely declined.

"I'm Dakota," said the boy, taking a sip.

"I know," Simon lied.

Dakota passed the bottle on. "Do you want to go outside?"

Simon could think of few things he wanted to do less. He said yes, anyway, to be agreeable.

They went out to the backyard, a slab of hard dirt fenced in with green plastic. Dakota asked Simon if he liked the stars.

Simon said, "I like the spaces between them."

Dakota made a brief pretense at conversation. Simon said something about a classmate who had moved away. Dakota pressed him up against the fence, kissing him.

There came that feeling again: of being wanted, of belonging. Dakota's mouth was softer than it looked. It was much nicer than Simon's first kiss. Simon gripped tentatively at Dakota's coat sleeves. He tilted his head, murmuring a sigh.

Dakota stepped back, looking stung. "What did you say?"

Simon blinked fast in the haze of the cold night. He wasn't aware he had said anything.

Dakota gave Simon a hurt look. "My name isn't Markus," he said.

Something like nettles ate at Simon's skin. The full brunt of the cold settled in his chest.

"Whatever," Dakota muttered. He skulked back inside.

Simon sank on the ground. He wrapped his arms around his knees. He listened to the screen door creaking open, the rush of tires in the street.

*

Simon made it home at eleven o'clock. He locked the door behind him, stepping out of his shoes. He trod into the living room, where somebody had left the TV on. He reached for the dial, shutting it off.

The staircase groaned when he climbed it to the landing. Simon felt the weight of the old building tugging at him, commiserating. The light was on in the attic, glowing underneath the door. Simon deliberated, then went inside.

It wasn't just one light. A multitude of fairy lights hung from the ceiling, green and pink, blue and yellow. They clung in circles to the wooden support beams. Markus' sketchbook was on the floor, and his pencils. Markus was standing up, smoothing out his uniform.

Markus smiled warmly. "I wanted to give you white dwarfs and blue supergiants. I couldn't pull the stars down. So I tried another way. Is this alright?"

The lights left watery reflections on Markus' face. Simon couldn't pick out his LED.

Simon's eyes were wet. He blinked very fast. He had never felt so afraid in his life.

"Simon?"

Markus crossed the floor in two strides. He took Simon's elbows in his hands, concerned.

Simon looked at him. The image of him was blurry and wonderful. Simon blinked again, the tears disappearing. His eyes were dry and hot.

Simon said, "All of my good memories are of you. Even the bad ones are good because you're in them."

Markus let go of him. Simon wondered if he had realized Simon was rotten inside. Markus' eyes scanned Simon's face, betraying none of his thoughts.

Simon went back down the stairs. Winter followed him through the soles of his socks, at the back of his throat.


	6. I Want My Love to Rest Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon gets ready to go away to college. Markus has other ideas.

The phone was ringing in the kitchen. Simon muted the television, darting inside. He took it off the cradle, wedging it between his ear and shoulder.

"Hey," said Tina Chen on the other line. "You still need a ride up to New York?"

Simon shifted the phone to his other ear. "No. I've got a car."

His parents had given it to him for his eighteenth birthday. Simon felt uncomfortable driving it, a flashy Dodge Challenger. He wondered if it was supposed to make up for eighteen years of neglect.

"Okay," Tina said. "Call me when you get there? We can go bar hopping. I've got a cousin up in Bay Ridge."

Markus was standing in front of the stove. Whatever he was stirring in the pot smelled creamy. It whipped wetly around the wooden spoon.

His eyes were fixed on Simon. His lips were parted, his little light spinning.

Simon swallowed with difficulty. He turned away.

"Yeah," Tina was saying. "I'm not gonna do the whole college thing. Figure I'll just become a cop. They lowered the requirements for women now."

Simon pretended he couldn't feel Markus' eyes on him. He wasn't doing a good job of it.

Tina said, "What was it you were studying, again?"

Simon cleared his dry throat. "Computer science. Software engineering."

Markus' spoon clinked against the inside of the pot.

"Right," Tina said, laughing. "They always said you were weirdly attached to your android."

Markus' spoon slowed down. For one dreadful moment, Simon imagined he had somehow heard Tina.

Tina said, "Is it true you used to bring it to the movies?"

Simon gripped the phone tightly. "I have to go."

They hung up after making plans to meet in Brooklyn. Simon put the phone on the receiver. His heart was racing, heat climbing in his throat.

Markus was still staring at him. The soup frothed over the lip of the pot. It spilled down the stove, then the side of the oven.

Simon yanked open a kitchen drawer. He pulled out a dishcloth and pushed the pot back. He dabbed carefully around the burner. He folded the cloth up, wiping the oven door.

"Markus," he said. "You could have been hurt."

He made the mistake of looking up. Markus was standing directly in front of him. He was so close, Simon couldn't move. Simon counted sixteen freckles on his nose.

Simon swallowed. He stepped back.

John Phillips walked into the kitchen, his hair more gray than brown. He wrinkled his face. "What's burning in here?"

Simon tucked the rag behind his back. John spotted it with an eagle's eye.

"That damn android," he said, bewildered. "I knew the thing was getting old."

He stalked out of the kitchen, shaking his head. Simon stared after him. He couldn't believe five years made Markus old.

Simon peeked at Markus again. Markus made no attempt to move.

Simon put the rag in the sink. "You need to be careful, Markus."

He stepped out of the room, his skin on fire. He felt Markus' eyes following him.

Ever since Simon's impromptu confession, he didn't know how to talk to Markus. The embarrassment was one factor. The dread was another. Simon didn't know many androids, but he knew what was socially acceptable. Humans--normal humans--didn't fall in love with their androids. They were too busy falling in love with one another.

Simon went upstairs to Daniel's room. Emma was sitting on his bed. She raced Daniel's Hot Wheels down the comforter.

"Just go to college already," she ordered him. "Then I get all your old toys."

"I told you," Daniel muttered. "I'm staying here in Detroit."

He looked up at Simon's entry. His eyes were wide, like he'd forgotten they cohabited.

Simon drummed his fingers against his leg. "I'll miss you."

He didn't know anymore if that was true.

"Yeah," Daniel said quickly. "Me, too."

Daniel ran his hand through his hair. He dropped his hands at his sides. "You could always just intern at Stratford Tower. I'll be there, so you wouldn't be alone."

Simon shook his head. He needed desperately to get away from Detroit.

Daniel's brow darkened. "I get it. It's no good because I'm the one doing it."

Simon smiled sadly. "Are you doing it because you want to? Or because Dad did it when he was our age?"

Interminable silence settled between them. Emma lowered the toy car, eyes wide.

Daniel's hand balled at his side. He gnashed his teeth, crossing the room.

"You fucking--"

"Stop!"

Emma jumped off the bed. She wedged between them, looking scared.

Daniel dropped his hand. He unclenched it. Even he looked shocked with himself.

Emma stomped her foot. "What's the _matter_ with you guys? We're supposed to be a team! You guys get on my nerves all the time, but I never try to hit you!"

Simon felt ashamed of himself. He should have known better than to goad Daniel. Daniel's feelings about their father were complicated.

Daniel drew a deep breath. "She's right," he said. "I'm sorry."

Simon shook his head. "I'm the one who's sorry."

Emma looked back and forth, a spectator at a tennis match. Her ponytail swung around her face.

Daniel forced a pained smile. "We'd better get our shit together. Graduation party's tomorrow. I'll bet Mom and Dad didn't invite any of our friends."

Simon knew that was true on his part. Simon didn't have any friends.

"Ugh," Emma whined, falling back on the bed. "I'm gonna be the only kid in the house. I'm gonna be all alone with _Markus_. How could you guys leave me like this?"

Simon stopped himself from speaking up. He wanted to tell her that Markus was the best person they knew. He wanted to tell her he'd have given anything to be in her place. He couldn't. He was a coward. These feelings of his were so contemptible, he couldn't bear to ruminate on them.

*

Simon dressed the next day in a crisp white shirt and tie. The cuffs were too tight around his wrists. He combed his hair, but couldn't flatten the cowlick. Even spitting on his hand didn't work.

He went downstairs, where Markus was picking up the coffee table, moving it against the wall. Markus moved the sofa back, too. He plugged in the vacuum, kicking the power button. The noisy machine whirred to life.

Simon stood at the bottom of the stairs. He watched him in secrecy, a pang in his chest. Markus bent over the vacuum, pushing it across the carpet. The arch of his spine, the furrow of his brow looked human. He betrayed himself when he didn't blink. As far as he knew, no one watching. He didn't have to cater to human sensibilities.

Simon might have loved that most of all. Markus was not, could not be human. Markus was both knowable and unknowable. When he knocked on a closed door, he used the same rhythm every time, two fleeting, solid raps. When he pulled the weeds from the yard, and came across a garden snake, he picked it up, carrying it to the brook. His machine heart was reliable in its kindness. His machine mind was unknowable. Simon didn't know what Markus saw when he looked at him. Maybe Simon was a series of numbers, rearranged in the facsimile of a human being.

Markus was a facsimile, too.

Markus looked up just then. His eyes met Simon's from the center of the floor. The vacuum stopped moving, rumbling at his side. His eyes were as wide as saucers.

Simon wanted to know: _What do you want? Why do you keep looking at me that way?_ His hand tightened on the banister. He ran his tongue along his lip. A human was an inefficient thing to be. He couldn't know Markus' machine mind. He couldn't make him know what this felt like, this inexorable, burgeoning need.

He thought: Maybe Markus was the real person. Maybe Simon was the wind-up doll, cut and carved from a tree for him.

The carpet snagged under the vacuum. It tore loudly, catching in the motor.

Markus kicked the power off. Caroline came in from the sun room. She stared at the carpet, apoplectic.

"Stupid android! What's the matter with you? Go get a throw rug and cover that up!"

Markus hesitated. He dropped the vacuum handle, walking over to the closet.

Caroline rounded on Simon. "Why are you wearing the black necktie? Didn't I say you look better in red?"

Simon started with surprise. He was fairly certain she hadn't said anything. She hadn't talked to him since June.

"Well?" said Caroline, clipped and impatient.

Simon stepped off the staircase. He went in the laundry room, shutting the door.

He pulled the drawstring light, rummaging in the hamper. He'd dirtied the red tie at Emma's birthday party, another performative event. He guessed he could wear it backwards. No one was going to look at him, anyway.

The door creaked open. Simon's heart jumped in his throat. Markus leaned back against it, blocking the way out.

"Simon," he said.

Simon couldn't see any way to escape. He was too big to crawl in the vent now.

Markus stepped forward, crossing the small room. Simon was terrified, a funny thing to be, considering the company.

Markus stopped short of him. His face was somehow changed, lax with discovery. His features had softened to watercolors on a wet canvas.

"Simon," Markus said. "Me, too."

Simon's tongue felt like chalk in his mouth. The sensation of cotton filled his ears.

"Me, too, Simon," said Markus, looking at him wondrously. "Me too."

Simon felt like he was going to be sick. He pushed past Markus. He bolted from the room.

*

John and Caroline's stuffy friends filled the living room. As the party waned, they trailed out to the lawn, chatting in the sunlight. Simon thought it was brave of them to risk turning to dust.

The caterer laid dishes on the folding tables. They were covered in tin foil, glinting in the sun. Simon stood under the wisteria tree, his hand against the trunk. The drooping flowers veiled him in twilight. He felt like he was standing in the habitable zone of a tidally-locked planet. Maybe he had never met another person before.

Mr. Manfred ducked under the tree. He said hello.

"Going to be strange with you gone," he said. "Can you believe I've known you five years now?"

Simon nodded. He affected a smile.

"When you come back," said Mr. Manfred, "who will you be? I think you know how the old the saying goes. 'You can't go home again.'"

Simon hoped with all his heart that the saying held water. He had never felt at home in his ever-changing skin, this wicked little town, the eyes that strayed across the fences.

"Sir," said Simon. "Can I ask you a favor?"

Mr. Manfred smiled. Simon noticed swaths of gray in his hair. "Ask."

Simon tugged on the fingers of one hand. "I won't be here to watch over Markus. I know you like him. I was wondering if..."

Mr. Manfred interrupted. "If I would keep an eye on him?"

Simon nodded. Mr. Manfred had a way of cutting to the heart of the matter.

Mr. Manfred glanced at him. "What would you do if I said no?"

Simon was too stunned to think. It was the last thing he'd expected to hear.

Mr. Manfred tucked his hands in his pockets. "I think you need to consider that. If the answer is, 'I'll do nothing,' it doesn't matter that I look out for him. If the answer is anything else, you shouldn't be asking me."

Simon didn't feel like talking anymore. He excused himself, staggering back in the house. He felt vaguely sick again, facilitated, no doubt, by the heat.

He winced when he stepped in the living room. The Bee Gees were playing on the stereo, grating him with their falsettos. He started up the staircase, hand sliding on the banister with sweat. He went up to the attic, away from the din. The stale air and dust came as a salve.

Simon sat down on the floor. Markus' sketchbook lay at his feet, the cover facing up. Simon wondered if he could look. Markus had never told him not to.

Markus might not have known that was an option.

Simon pushed the book aside. He stood up. He turned to leave the attic, exhausted.

Markus filled up the doorway with his presence. Simon wasn't surprised to see him.

"I want to talk to you," Markus said.

Simon remembered a time when Markus didn't think he could want anything.

Markus took a step closer. The floorboards creaked, dust motes rising in the air.

There was a purpose to Markus' shoulders that wasn't there before. Strong and square, he held them, for the first time, like they were his.

"Simon," he said. "Ever since that day--when you told me how you felt, before the holidays--"

Simon didn't think he could outrun Markus this time. He remained rooted in place.

"I've been thinking," Markus said. "I've been trying to think of a single thing that will matter once you're gone."

Markus looked up. He shook his head.

"But there's nothing."

Simon wondered how a declaration could sound so sweet and so terrible.

Markus moved closer. "Maybe I'm wrong. I don't know what feelings feel like for you. If I'm wrong, you have to tell me. I'll never bother you again. But Simon..."

His eyes were magnetic, Simon thought. Simon didn't know how to look away.

"Simon," Markus said. "Don't you need me?"

Simon felt his resolve crumbling.

"You're the only thing I need," Markus said. "Sometimes I lose whole hours just remembering that you exist. Every time I remember, I feel...I..."

Markus drew off. His expression was rapt. Simon's hands tingled.

"I've thought about what you said," Markus went on. "About your memories--"

"Markus--"

"I'm not finished. I've thought about that a lot. I tried to figure out what makes a memory good or bad. I don't think I have bad memories. You're in all of them."

Simon felt like he was going to cry. It would have been funny to cry now. He'd never done it before.

"So, Simon...do you need me? Or do you need me to leave you alone?"

If Simon said, _Leave me alone_ , Markus would probably obey. Simon wouldn't have to contend with this irreconcilable thing. All he had to do was pretend.

"Nobody would understand," said Simon.

Markus was smiling, beautifully naive. "Why do they have to?"

Simon thought: It was that simple. If Markus was all he needed, then nobody mattered but Markus.

"I need you," Simon said. "I--I do."

He didn't know how long it was before he felt Markus' hands at his elbows. He chanced looking at him, wary. Freckles and green eyes filled his vision. He wondered when he had grown taller than Markus.

Markus stroked Simon's elbow. "Take me with you when you go to New York?"

Simon drank in the brown bristles of his eyebrows, the curve of his Cupid's bow. "I want to...but Markus, you don't--you're not a--"

It felt too cruel to say he wasn't a person. Simon let the silence speak for itself.

"I know," Markus said. His fingers were purposeful inside Simon's elbow. "Why don't you buy me from your parents? They keep saying I'm old and useless. They can get a new android."

Buying Markus felt equally as cruel as denying him personhood. Simon couldn't think up a better solution.

In fact: It was their best solution. Simon could imagine it now, driving the long distance to New York, Markus in the passenger seat.

Simon put his hands on Markus' face. He brushed his cheeks with his thumbs. His hands were trembling.

"On the drive there," Simon said. "We'll listen to Yoko Ono songs. Okay?"

Markus smiled brilliantly. "I hate that, I think."

Simon laughed. One laugh rolled together with the next. This novel emotion must have been happiness. It had taken eighteen years to learn it.

Simon put his arms around Markus. Markus' head came down on his shoulder. Simon stroked him through his shirt. In this hideaway room, there was only kindness.

*

That night, in Simon's bedroom, Markus helped him pack for college.

"I don't think I'll take this shirt," Simon said. He held it up to the light, green with orange sleeves.

Markus inspected it thoughtfully. "But I like it."

Simon balled it up. He tossed it his way. "Then it's yours."

Markus caught the shirt. He unfolded it, peering at Simon.

Simon smiled. "I mean it. You ought to have your own clothes. You're not going to be a servant, if you live with me. You're going to be my roommate."

Markus' eyes widened. "I won't have to cook anymore?"

Simon sat down on the bed. He laughed. "You don't like cooking?"

Markus sat down beside him. "When I like something, I fixate on it. But I don't fixate on cooking. I can't stand to think about it."

Simon butted their foreheads together. "Then no more cooking."

Markus' entire face stilled. His eyes roamed Simon's, learning it anew.

He said, "Do you think...I've been thinking..."

Simon brought his hand up, stroking behind Markus' ear. "What?"

Markus' light was yellow. "You told me when you kiss someone, it means you want them. Is that true?"

Simon couldn't remember saying that. A sound like tidewater rushed in his ears.

Markus' eyes kept searching him. "I was thinking it even then. I just didn't know I could ask. Could you..."

Simon shifted closer on his knees. He was convinced now his heart was trying to escape him.

He tucked his hands behind Markus' neck. He closed his eyes. He brought their lips together, a chaste meeting of old friends. Simon shuddered at first contact. Markus had to feel it, he thought, the room becoming too small. An entire city block wasn't enough to contain Markus. There was so much of him, and only one meager Simon. Simon was afraid Markus would starve to death.

Markus was kissing him back: clumsy, completely without practice or aim. It was the best kiss Simon had ever had.

"Hey, I don't know if you've seen--"

Simon jumped back from Markus. Daniel was standing in the doorway. His hand was on the newly opened door.

Daniel's jaw dropped. At any other time, Simon would have found it comical.

Simon clambered off the bed. "Don't tell. Please, don't tell them."

"You--" Daniel floundered. "What are you--"

"He's coming with me," Simon rushed out. "I'm going to buy him, and then you'll never have to see us again. I promise. Just don't tell. Please don't tell, Daniel--"

Daniel's face was wan. "This is sick. This is fucking sick."

"Then pretend you didn't see it," Simon begged. "Just go."

There was a second's pause where Simon thought Daniel was coming around. His shoulders slackened, his hand falling from the doorknob.

"DAD!"

Simon knew in an instant that they would never be friends again.

Simon zipped up his suitcase on the bed. "We need to go, Markus."

Markus stood up. John skidded into the room, looking flabbergasted.

"What?" he asked. "Who's dying?"

Daniel pointed in Markus' direction. "The android--it was--"

"What?" said John, harrowed. "What did it do now?"

"Dad," Simon said loudly. "Can I buy Markus from you?"

"Kissing him," Daniel finished. "I don't know how long--I just walked in--"

John looked between Simon and Markus. His eyebrows climbed toward his hairline.

They lowered again, his face clouding over. "Again with the fag shit?"

Simon felt angry--really angry, for the first time in his life. "You let political donors play with him like a doll. Maybe you're the fag."

It was precisely the wrong thing to say.

"Get out of my house," John said, livid.

Simon shouldered the luggage bag. He reached back for Markus' hand.

"Leave the android!" John barked. "Last time I checked, my dollars paid for it!"

"Taxpayer dollars paid for him." Simon tugged on Markus' hand. "Let's go, Markus."

For one fearful moment, Simon thought Markus would lapse into old programming. He was relieved when Markus followed him to the door.

John grabbed Markus around the neck. He shoved him back against the wall.

Simon leapt on John's back. He locked his arms around his throat. It was an unskillful attempt from someone who had never been in a fight. John knocked him off, Simon sprawling to the floor. Markus went down next to him. He helped him sit up, his LED flaring red.

"Just go to the car," Simon begged. "He's not going to kill me."

Markus hesitated. His beautiful machine heart was his fatal flaw. John grabbed the chair from Simon's writing table. He brought it crashing down on Markus' head.

Simon learned in that moment the sound of plastic casing cracking. Markus fell forward, his head on Simon's lap. His neck, the back of his skull were splintered open. Simon saw metal transistors inside, raw wires sparking blue. The light on the side of his head was a dead gray.

Simon's fingers were trembling, sliding against Markus' face. He turned him so he could see his eyes. Lovely, immobile, they stared at the far wall.

Simon covered the holes in Markus' body with his hands. Blue blood trickled over his fingers. The backs of his knuckles were damp with clear spots. Simon guessed that was what tears looked like when they finally fell.

John tossed the chair aside. "You don't use my property for you perversions."

Simon hunched over Markus. He cradled his shoulders in his arms. Tears whited his eyes with stars. He squeezed them shut to snuff them out. Darkness flooded the space between them, acrid with its ozone scent.


	7. I Felt Like Smashing My Face in a Clear Glass Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grown up Simon pulls the city apart, searching for Markus. His teenage sister has a concerned talk with him.

Simon stopped the truck on the corner of Winslow and Garrett. He hauled himself down on the curb. The back of the truck opened slowly, grinding on the hinge. Simon was convinced he was going deaf in his left ear.

Simon tore the lid off the standing trash can. The metal glittered grimy silver in the street light. White moths beat around the brim, wings the size of splinters. Simon waved them away. He reached in the can with gloved hands, lugging out the trash bag.

He tossed it in the back of the truck. He climbed back in, his knees aching.

Early morning meant a pitch black sky, the eye of some slumbering beast. White lights swam on its surface, a sleepy, incongruent dance. Simon could almost hear them winking. He didn't understand what was so funny.

He drove the truck back to the trash depot, in through the automated gate. He backed it into the transfer station, a concrete garage with no lights. Simon hit the release switch, the back of the truck falling open. A deluge of trash bags flooded out. They joined with the ocean of garbage on the floor, the stench overpowering. Rotted food and day-old blood mingled with beer bottles, soiled diapers, ammonia and soap scum. Simon pulled his collar up over his nose.

Simon clambered out of the truck. He stalked out of the garage, grabbed the roller door, and slammed it shut. He stuffed his gloves in his back pocket. He crossed the compound in a listless gait.

The showers were empty when he went inside. The white stalls were stained brown at the base of the spigots. Simon shed his uniform, lumbering in. He turned on the faucet with a heavy creak. Icy water slapped him in the face. He wiped it from his eyes, gasping for breath. He leaned against the tile on a chaffed elbow. He watched the water pooling at his feet, draining through the hole in the floor.

Simon felt fifty years old.

Simon scrubbed and soaked himself. He shut the water off, trailing it when he stepped out. He visited the locker room for a change in uniform. Face still frigid, he hiked out to the personnel lot, where he boarded a sleek white boom truck. He drove it out to Junkyard 14.

The trash depot housed twenty-three junkyards for non-biodegradable materials. Over the past six years, Simon had scoured seven. The work was slow and unrewarding. Simon bore it only by keeping the end in mind.

Simon laid the wind-up doll on the dashboard. He pressed play on the truck's tape deck.

Mountains of sterile android bodies gleamed white under the floodlights. Simon pulled the lever on his dashboard. The crane unfolded from the top of the truck, plunging into the mass. Simon remembered the arcade game of old, the stuffed animals behind the glass.

Simon killed the music mid-song. He took out the cassette tape, tossing it on the floor.

"You were right," he said to nobody. "She's a terrible singer. I don't know why I liked this."

Simon spent the next hour picking through the mass grave. The work was so tedious, he nearly nodded off. Movement far below caught his eye. He turned off the engine, leaping out of the truck.

He waded his way through broken android limbs. He shielded himself from the volatile sky. Dawn spotted its face in blue lens flares. The clouds close to the horizon swirled green-gray. It was going to rain today. Simon didn't know how much progress he would make. Sometimes he worked right through the bad weather, crawling into bed sodden and shivering.

Simon made his way to the pile of contorted bodies. A hand stuck out of the side, waving. Simon gripped it tightly. He dug his heels in, pulling it free.

It wasn't Markus, but a lady android--a KL900, Simon thought. She hit the ground hard on her knees. Her head was badly damaged, the back of her skull missing. Exposed cables threaded through the back of her spine, the start of her servomotor. _Click_ , went the machine.

Simon shoved the servo back in place. He pulled her tattered dress up over her shoulders.

The cranial damage was the least of her ruin. Her eyes were solid black, watching him without seeing. Simon knew in an instant that she was blind. Her skin slipped around her face like smoke. Her dermal layer was compromised.

Simon felt weighted down with sadness. He closed his hand around hers.

"I'm going to take you to my truck," he said. "I have blue blood there."

The KL900 hobbled when she followed him. He hoisted her up in the passenger seat. He got in on the other side, sitting behind the wheel. The android needed help bringing the thirium pouch to her lips. Simon held her hands carefully in his. Ten seconds later, the pouch was empty.

Simon put the pouch down. "What's your name?"

The KL900 thrust her hands before her face. The skin on her hands disappeared up to the wrists. The plasteel underneath it was bone white.

"You can't talk," Simon realized. "It's alright. We'll figure something out."

He put the truck in reverse. He backed it slowly out of the junkyard.

He took the KL900 home with him to Ravendale. It was one of the ramshackle parts of town. Sagging, one-story homes were backed by the ruins of tall factories with broken, glazed black windows. The sun was coming up, pale, watery. Around this time, Simon usually went to bed.

Simon took the android inside his apartment. He was fairly certain it had once been an attic, half-finished as it was. He led the android by her hand, watching as she felt along the wooden walls, the kitchenette, the door to the bathroom that swung open on faulty hinges. The whole space was the size of a very large room.

He unfolded the Murphy bed from the wall. It creaked as it slammed down on the floor.

He said, "Do you mind if I get some sleep? I've been up all night."

The space around the floor was littered with junk, salvaged from the trash depot. Simon was too busy these days to place all his belongings. The KL900 crouched among the refuse. She picked up a metal army helmet. She fitted it over her head.

Simon lay down on the papery bed, face-first. He squeezed his eyes shut against the yellowed pillow. He saw Markus on the backs of his eyelids, freckles soft, green eyes shimmering.

He hissed with pain.

*

Simon slept three hours before rolling defeatedly out of bed. He slapped his face with both hands. He dressed in jeans and a pullover.

The KL900 was standing in the corner. She swayed lightly on her feet, eyes closed. Simon tried calling to her, but she didn't stir. Simon supposed she was deep in sleep.

Simon trudged wearily out to the street. He climbed in his car. He squinted at the glaring sun.

He drove the three blocks to the police station, parking on the corner behind an ice cream truck. He staggered out of the car, massaging his temples. His headache was his most reliable companion these days. It went with him wherever he did, waiting for him when he woke up.

Simon went in the front lobby. Androids were sitting behind the desk, three identical ST300s.

Simon walked up to them, knotting his hands together. "I'm here to see Lieutenant Anderson."

The nearest ST300 smiled blandly. "Hello again, Mr. Phillips."

Simon resisted the urge to look for his father.

"He's ready to see you," the android said. "Please step through to the bullpen."

Simon stepped through the gate on the side, the solid blue light parting around his body. He thought about all the menial jobs androids were performing now. It was only a matter of time before an android replaced him, too. He saw nothing wrong with that. The best man for the job was the one who deserved it.

He passed the brick columns, the water cooler bubbling by the captain's office. He came to a timid stop by Lieutenant Anderson's desk.

Lieutenant Anderson was a bear of a man, shaggy blond hair framing his face. He was about forty. When he saw who it was waiting for him, he grimaced. It wasn't the first time Simon had come to visit.

"Look," Anderson preempted. "There's nothing more I can do for you."

Simon forced himself to look him in the eye. "I don't believe that's true."

Anderson swiveled in his chair to face Simon. "It wasn't your android to begin with. What are you asking me to do here? Legally, it's out of my hands."

Simon looked at the picture frame on the desk. A toothy blond boy was smiling at the camera.

Simon gazed contemplatively at Anderson. "You can't even tell me if he was repaired and resold?"

"No," said Anderson, harrowed. "If the android was resold, it's _doubly_ out of my hands."

Simon stared at the reflective floor. He couldn't comprehend it when people talked about Markus like he never lived. No one had been more alive than Markus. Maybe Simon had only lived in Markus' clumsy touches, in his awkward, beautiful smiles. The key in Simon's back was broken.

Anderson sighed. Simon drew himself to attention.

"Just get a new android," Anderson said. He sounded like he thought he was being kind. "Buy the same model. You can probably get a used one. Give it the same name. Coach it to act the same."

He said, "This is why I'll never buy my kid an android. It messes with the developing brain."

It was very possible there was something wrong with Simon. It was equally true that he didn't care. The kindest, gentlest moments of his life were the ones he had spent ostensibly doing the wrong thing.

"It wouldn't be the same," Simon said.

It didn't matter if he bought a new android. He could name the android Markus, convince him they had grown up together. He could open up his CPU, detach it from his motherboard, program him with as many of Markus' memories as he recalled. No one else would ever be Markus. No one but Markus could be the android who dove into a swimming pool for him, or skated with him down a highway--or thought that Christmas lights were the same as stars.

*

Simon went back to his apartment at eleven o'clock. He looked critically at the house it belonged to, planks falling out of the white siding. He thought a person's living conditions spoke to the disorderliness of the mind.

Emma was sitting on the front step. Simon started, staring in silence. He almost thought she was a mirage. A high, sleek ponytail spilled down her shoulder. Her legs were striped in pink and purple leg warmers. _I ONLY WANT BURGERS_ , screamed her orange t-shirt.

Emma was reading one of her schoolbooks. She closed it when she saw Simon. She stood up.

"Hey," she said. "Can you give me a soda?"

Simon drew closer. "Aren't you supposed to be in school right now?"

Emma slipped the backpack off her shoulder. She shook it around. "What Mom and Dad don't know won't kill them. Come on, man--cover for me!"

Simon didn't know who she was fooling. Their parents didn't care if Emma cut high school. The only person who might take notice was the new android, an AP400 named Cynthia.

Simon took Emma upstairs to his apartment. She sat on a stool in the kitchenette, leaning against the counter. There was no table. Simon poured her a glass of juice, ignoring her protests.

"I don't have soda," Simon explained. "And this is healthier."

Emma pulled a sour face. "I'm not _five_. I'm almost sixteen."

"If that's a hint for alcohol," Simon said, "I'm ignoring it."

Emma drank the juice steadfastly, the grape staining her lip purple. Simon resisted the urge to wipe it off. He pulled his chair over beside hers, sitting down.

Emma thunked the cup down on the counter. "You need to call Dan already. He's losing his mind, thinking you hate him."

Simon shook his head. "I don't hate anybody."

Simon didn't have the energy for hatred. All his energy went into pulling apart garbage dumps, searching for a glimmer, a scrap of the one good thing he had ever had.

"Okay," Emma said. "Then why won't you call him?"

Simon hesitated. "I don't have anything I want to say to him."

Emma showed Simon a dubious look. Simon marveled at how fast she was growing. Her smooth white face was accented with freckles, the pale kind that only showed up in the sun. Her eyebrows were furry caterpillars above striking eyes.

"Look," Emma said. "I totally get why you're pissed at Daniel. I would be, too. Sometimes he's a real jerk."

Simon smiled weakly. Outside the walls, he heard the rain, thunder rumbling across the sky.

"The thing is," Emma said. She paused, searching for her words. She bit her lip, chewing it to agitation.

"The thing is...he was worried about you."

Simon gave Emma a stunned look. It was news to him.

Emma pleaded with her eyes. She crossed her legs at the knee. "Markus was like a parent to us. So when Daniel saw you kissing him--"

"Markus was not a parent to me."

Emma deflated in her seat. She reached over her shoulder, tightening her ponytail.

Simon looked at her. "Markus wasn't a parent to me. Nobody was a parent to me. Is it all that surprising that I fell in love with him? People find their own love when they're denied it."

"Okay, Simon...but he was an _android_ ," Emma said desperately. "An android can't love you back. And he's gone now, and you let that one day ruin your whole life! I mean, you're picking up trash--"

"Somebody has to," Simon said. "It's an honest job."

"I'm not like Mom and Dad," Emma said. "I don't care if you're gay. Why can't you get a--a boyfriend? And forget about everything else that happened?"

Simon stood up. "I know you love me--"

"If you know that--"

Simon cut her off. "You need to stop now. Something happened when Markus went away. Either Dad threw him out, or he gave him back to CyberLife. If Markus was thrown out, I'm going to find him and fix him. If Markus was resold, I'm going to find him all the same."

Emma hopped off her stool. "What if it's none of the above? What if they stripped him for his parts? His arms could be in Florida, his head in New Orleans. His heart--"

Simon picked up Emma's backpack. He offered it to her by the strap.

"I love you," Simon said. "But you need to go home. I can't keep having this conversation."

Emma pulled her backpack on. Her lips trembled. She flew across the floor at Simon, tossing her arms around his middle. Simon had almost forgotten how young she was.

Simon cradled the sides of Emma's head. He kissed her on her warm crown. Somebody had once said that good things came about from the bad. It was the only way Simon could reconcile knowing who her parents were, and what a precious heart she had.

*

That night, in the kitchenette, Simon debated instant noodles. It was hard to find an appetite these days. He closed the pantry door, leaning against it with exhaustion. He heard a metallic voice coming from the sleeping area behind him.

" _SPELL 'CIRCUIT.' ... C-I-R-C-U-I-T._ "

Simon turned around. The KL900 sat on the floor by his bed. Her ruined dress was replaced with Simon's fuzzy yellow sweater. She was playing with a Speak & Spell, the toy reciting whatever she typed.

Simon smiled haggardly. He crossed the floor to her. "Those toys were popular when I was little. I was surprised to find a working one in the landfill."

The android's slender fingers roamed the keypad. Her empty eyes were fixed on the wall.

" _L-U-C-Y._ "

Simon hesitated. He crouched in front of her, touching her wrist.

"Is that your name?" Simon asked.

Lucy's eyes sought Simon's. They didn't quite land where they were supposed to.

Simon squeezed warmth into her wrist. "What happened to you?" he asked sinkingly. "How did you wind up like this?"

Lucy bowed her head over the toy. The army helmet tipped forward. Simon delicately reached for the straps, tightening them under her chin.

" _P-A-T-I-E-N-T._ "

"Patient?" Simon repeated. "You worked with the ill?"

Lucy was typing again. Simon took care not to interrupt.

" _M-E-N-T-A-L-P-A-T-I-E-N-T._ "

"I see," said Simon. "That makes sense. Whoever did this to you would have to be pretty mental."

Still, Simon thought, he didn't know what he could do for her. His heart wrenched.

Simon said, "Do you need thirium? Are you in pain anywhere?"

 _Tap, tap_ went the keyboard. Simon watched Lucy's fingers in movement.

" _J-E-R-I-C-H-O?_ "

"Jericho," Simon said. "What is that?"

" _B-E-F-R-E-E. I-N-J-E-R-I-C-H-O._ "

Simon wasn't sure he completely understood. He sussed it out.

"Is this a place? Somewhere you're trying to go?"

Lucy nodded. She smiled gently, surprising Simon. Simon wasn't aware she knew how.

"And you want me to take you there," Simon said. "Is that right?"

If Simon hadn't known she was blind, he would have sworn she was staring at him.

"Okay," Simon said, legs feeling numb. "I can try. But it might take me a while. There's no neighborhood called Jericho on my route."

" _N-O-T-P-L-A-C-E-F-O-R-H-U-M-A-N-S. A-N-D-R-O-I-D-S._ "

Simon succumbed to his longest silence yet. He parsed out the increasingly difficult conversation.

"This place," he began. "Androids live there? Away from humans?"

Lucy nodded, laying the toy down.

"And an android who had been broken and tossed aside. Could he be there?" Simon asked. "Is this a place every android knows about?"

Lucy stopped answering, her LED turning blue. Simon supposed he might have gotten ahead of himself.

The fact was, when a person had been deprived of hope for years, shown the unkindest face man wore, he might grasp at any shred of hope he found. He might look for it in the bottom of a stinking landfill, or in the face of a machine as broken as he was. He might ignore all signs that he was lost. He wouldn't be human if he didn't.


	8. Shiranakatta (I Didn't Know)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy and Simon go to Jericho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be like, 12 chapters...but I lost interest. I am very sorry. I think any ending where Markus and Simon are together is a happy ending.

Simon rolled up the shirts, cramming them in his satchel. He tucked granola bars and water bottles in the side pockets. Traveling around Ferndale was already going to be a day trip. He didn't know what they would find there, or when he would get back.

Now that he had a plan to follow, Simon was second-guessing himself. Any number of things could go wrong. The worst case scenario was that Markus was not in Jericho--whatever Jericho was. Slightly more palatable was that Markus was in Jericho, but damaged beyond repair. Simon couldn't bear to think of a Markus he couldn't help. A small part of him believed that the world, for all its faults, was a just machine. Markus was the last person who deserved to suffer.

Simon shouldered the bag, wincing when he hit a sore tendon. He wrapped the Speak & Spell around Lucy's neck with a cord. He took her hand, walking her out to the city street.

There was one other way this afternoon could go wrong. Markus could be in Jericho, but want nothing to do with Simon. Simon could hardly blame him. Simon was not an interesting person. If Markus had met other people, he must have realized that. Maybe the real reason Simon hadn't found Markus was that Markus didn't want him to.

Even rejection was preferable to uncertainty. As long as Markus was alive, little else mattered.

Simon and Lucy were barely at the street corner when a voice stopped Simon in his tracks.

"Hey! I want to talk to you!"

Simon turned around. Daniel was climbing out of a brown sedan. He looked out of place in his navy blue suit, his green necktie.

Simon's heart dropped in his stomach.

Lucy's Speak & Spell blipped at his side. " _R-U-OK?_ "

Daniel was coming closer now. His eyes looked steely blue in the sunlight. "Got a minute?" he asked.

Simon reached for Lucy's hand. "We're a little busy right now."

Daniel looked between them awkwardly. "Ah...more androids, huh?"

"We're joining the circus," Simon said. "I have to go."

He led Lucy gently to the crosswalk. Daniel was still talking.

"Unbelievable," he shouted. "You can't even spare five minutes for me?"

Simon broke into a brisk walk. The back of his neck felt sweaty. He slowed down once he was sure Daniel wasn't following.

He boarded the DPM with Lucy, picking two empty seats. He helped her sit down, the train doors sliding shut.

" _R-U-OK?_ " Lucy prompted.

Simon closed his hand around Lucy's. "I think we all have one person in our lives we'd prefer to avoid."

" _D-E-F_ ," Lucy typed.

The passengers around them were starting to stare. Simon sank in his seat, tugging on his collar.

Ten minutes later, they had arrived at Ferndale Station. Simon helped Lucy disembark. He looked around at the red columns holding up the roof, the mural on the far wall. Shadowy figures were spray-painted in black.

Simon whispered in Lucy's ear. "What am I looking for, again?"

Lucy crowded close to him. She peeled the skin back on her hand, displaying a hologram. It was a square inside another square, like the Underground Railroad's monkey wrench. In a historic city like Detroit, the iconography would have gone unnoticed.

Simon found the symbol hidden in the mural. Straightaway, they ran into a problem.

"You can't see it," Simon said. "And I'm not an android. I can't download the map..."

Lucy was typing on her Speak & Spell. Simon leaned over, hopeful.

" _T-A-K-E-P-I-C-T-U-R-E._ "

Simon bought a disposable camera off a street vendor. He stood back for a wide shot of the mural. No sooner than he had snapped the lens, Lucy snatched the camera. She interfaced with the LCD screen.

Then she was off, running with fire at her heels. It was all Simon could do to keep up with her--and keep her from crashing into pedestrians.

Progress was blundering, inelegant, and took three hours. Simon stopped every ten minutes to take photographs of street art. Lucy stopped for twenty or more, punching glacial instructions on her toy. _("F-L-O-W-E-R-S-H-O-P?")_ Around one o'clock, they came to a vacant lot with a ripped, chain link fence. They ducked under haphazardly, crawling through the other side. Simon didn't think the place looked very hygienic. Among its dubious distinctions were the skeleton of a junked beater, an old mattress with suspicious rust stains. They took cover behind a noxious dumpster. Lucy sat cross-legged, as calm as a Bodhisattva.

" _C-L-I-M-B-W-A-L-L._ "

It seemed about as plausible as anything else they had done today. Simon pushed the dumpster up against the brick wall. He helped Lucy scale it, then climbed up after her.

He had never seen a building like the one they emerged in. It was crumbling, for starters, and open on all sides. Sunlight poured in through the giant gaps in the walls. Simon hoisted his bag up on his shoulder. He grabbed Lucy's hand. He walked to the very edge of the platform, then startled.

It was a walled in shipyard.

"I didn't know," said Simon, dizzy. "I thought Ferndale was landlocked."

Ancient freighters stood on the canal, peeling in primary colors. Simon thought of a kindergarten for cargo ships. The closest boat was blue with red lettering. _Jericho_ , read the side. Its coppery gangway ran between the deck and the terminal building. Lucy and Simon had only to cross it, like a bridge.

Could this really be it? Simon's pulse performed drum solos.

"Go on, Lucy," said Simon. "It's alright. I'll be right behind you."

Lucy stepped onto the gangway. She must have heard how hollow the lattice was, the echo under her feet. She hobbled uncertainly. Her army helmet slipped on her head. Her arms went out at her sides, like airplane wings.

Simon watched her tiptoe precariously across the gangway. When she was halfway across, he remembered himself. He started after her.

He didn't know what he had done wrong. He couldn't have been much heavier than Lucy. Perhaps her servo provided her a better center of gravity. Lucy was on the deck of the ship when the gangway snapped beneath Simon's feet. He felt himself falling. He saw the river rising up to meet him, murky, a color best described as a shark's fin.

He smashed through it like a wall of bricks.

Simon was twelve years old again, the pool water rushing over his head. He breathed in an icy mouthful. He choked on it, his chest burning. He reached for the spot of light above his head. Nobody reached back this time. Markus wasn't here to save him.

He thought: It just had to be water. It couldn't have been a factory, or a nice meadow.

He held his breath, tucking his arms at his sides. The water carried him to the ship's smooth hull. There wasn't any way to climb it to the deck. Simon considered his options. The width of the prow was lined with portholes. If he could open one, he might get in.

He brought his elbows together. He smashed them through the glass.

He slithered inside the opening, glad for his recent bout of weight loss. He hit the floor with a wet slap, panting. A deluge of water poured after him. Simon looked around hastily. He spotted what looked like a filing cabinet. He pushed it up against the porthole. It held, but Simon didn't know for how long. He needed to find somebody--anybody--and tell them what had happened.

He thought: Not here for five minutes, and he was destroying their property. What an unruly house guest he made.

*

Something was uncanny about this ship. The floors, the walls were so clean, Simon could have eaten off of them. Simon had expected rust and patina. The doors he tried in the corridor were all locked. The mercury lamps on the ceiling glowed fuzzy orange. Simon stared at them. He rubbed his sore elbows, lost in thought. There was no denying that somebody lived here. Whoever that was, they were going to great lengths to keep it presentable.

He found a set of staircases leading up from steerage. He climbed one to what might have been the cargo deck. It was empty of cargo now.

Simon held his breath. Someone had remodeled the cargo deck to look like an outdoor park. Potted trees stood tall over park benches, lights entwined in the branches. Halfway down the dirt path was a two-tiered water fountain. Simon stepped up to it, incredulous. The pipes were all repurposed. The faucet of a kitchen sink had been welded together with the base of a table lamp, the rotor from a ceiling fan. The slapdash pastiche ran the gamut of brass and plastic, iron and steel.

The trees rustled. A woman stepped out from behind one. Her hazel eyes glinted cold.

Simon saw the LED on her temple. It was red and spinning, a sign of distress. She advanced on him, her hand behind her back. Her hair was a bouncy brown ponytail.

Simon was dripping all over the dirt path.

"I'm sorry," he began. "I destroyed a porthole down in steerage. Did my friend make it here safely?"

The woman's LED flickered rapidly. Her eyes were fixed in an unblinking stare.

She produced her hands from behind her back. Simon saw too late that she was carrying a lead pipe.

Simon backed away. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said.

Either she didn't believe him, or she didn't care. She closed the distance faster than any human could. She swung the pipe, catching him in the ribs.

At least one of them cracked audibly.

Simon went down on his knees. Wet heat stabbed his side in a pounding, incomparable staccato. He was going to throw up. His spine felt as if it were unraveling from the neck down.

The android kicked him on his back. She straddled him. Her hands came around his throat, cutting off his airflow. Dark spots flooded Simon's eyes.

If Simon had had the breath, he would have laughed. Just days ago, he had thought that he wasn't alive. He hadn't meant it as a challenge. Some cosmic entity had heard him anyway. What an undignified way to die.

*

Death, it turned out, was rather kind. Simon felt soft down beneath his back. Colored lights swam inside his eyelids, blurry, but festive.

Somebody was sponging the sweat from his temples. He felt their fingers touch the pulse in his neck. He wrenched his eyes open and saw clear brown skin. He squeezed them shut, his head pounding.

"Lucy," he said. "It's alright."

At least Lucy had gotten to Jericho. Simon had done something right.

Lucy's hands came back to his neck. She rubbed it with a sweet-smelling ointment. Simon winced. His clothes were dry, he realized, the sweatpants settling warmly on his legs. A moment later, he remembered he had worn chinos today.

Simon opened his eyes.

The room sharpened into focus. Simon could tell that it had once been a cabin. Colored fairy lights hung on the walls, pink and yellow and blue. A steel writing table was bolted to the floor. There were books on top of it, and his old clothes, still damp. An oil drum stood in the corner.

It wasn't Lucy taking care of him, but Markus.

Markus wiped his hands on a white rag. He set it on the nightstand. He was dressed like Simon had never seen him, in a hooded blue sweatshirt and jeans. He moved like he thought he was alone. He must not have realized Simon was awake.

Incredulous tears filled Simon's eyes. He pushed himself up on his hands. He threw his arms around Markus.

Markus startled badly, but caught him. His hands were everywhere, on Simon's arms, at Simon's back, trembling at the nape of his neck. Simon's ribs ached in protest. Underneath his shirt, medical tape pulled taut. Simon ran his hands over Markus' head. He felt the spots at the back where his dermal layer failed, the cauterized plasteel exposed.

Markus pushed him back by his shoulders. His eyes were very wide.

"You're older," Markus said eloquently.

Simon felt his smile trembling. "You're not," he returned.

Simon spread his hands across Markus' jaw. He touched their foreheads together. Tears spilled freely down the contours of his face.

"No," Markus said.

He brought his hands up to Simon's face. He chased the tears away as they fell. His eyes were everywhere on Simon, pale spotlights.

"No, Simon," he said. "You don't cry. When I imagine this, you don't cry."

Markus had imagined this. Simon felt delirious with relief.

Simon touched the corner of Markus' right eye. "It's blue now," he said. "What happened?"

Markus' face twisted with worry. "I couldn't find a replacement in the same color. The old one broke," he explained. "When your father--I mean--"

"I'm so sorry," Simon said.

" _Don't_ ," Markus said firmly. "It wasn't your fault."

Simon rubbed the damp patches on his face. "I should have protected you better."

"You came for me," Markus said. "You promised you would, when I was in trouble. Do you remember? And I promised I would wait."

Simon cast his memory back. He was thirteen years old, sitting with Markus under the wisteria tree.

Simon pulled back. He glanced briefly around the cabin. "Markus...what is this place?"

Markus looked anxiously at him. "It's your room."

Simon wasn't sure he followed. He ran his fingertips over Markus' hair, making sure he was real.

Markus drew a breath, surprising Simon. "I spent the last six years getting the ship ready for you. I made sure it was clean and habitable. The captain's quarters are filled with nonperishables. There's potable water in there. The latrines, too. It doesn't run, but I bring it in from outside. I built valves. There's clothing underneath the bed--"

Simon thought his heart might burst. "I can't believe I..."

Markus studied him earnestly. "You what?"

Simon smiled, apologetic. "It's stupid. I thought that maybe you wouldn't want me anymore."

Markus stared at him, mouth open like a fish. Simon felt so much love it was ridiculous.

"You don't get it," Markus realized. His brow darkened.

"I do," Simon said. "I'm sorry. It's just, having been away so long--"

"You don't get it," Markus insisted. "But that's okay. How could you, after all?"

Simon waited, unsure where this was going.

Markus said, "In the 49,362 hours since I saw you last--"

Simon swallowed a lump of emotion. Markus made it sound like an eternity.

Markus said, "In nearly three million minutes, Simon, I haven't stopped thinking about you. Not even once."

*

Simon felt increasingly dizzy. Machines less sophisticated than Markus ran telescopes out in space. They answered the phones for businessmen, measured medicines down to the milligram.

Machines less sophisticated than Markus held society together. Markus, with his grand processors, his macrocosmic neural network, only loved Simon.

"Simon," said Markus. "Are you alright? Why are you shaking?"

Simon didn't know how to explain. "I'm alright. Honest."

"No, you're not," said Markus seriously. "There's a crack in one of your ribs. North--that's the one who assaulted you--"

"I can't blame her," Simon said. "She must have been scared."

"She scares easily," Markus agreed. "She disguises it as anger. But Simon, you're _hurt_. Lie down," Markus ordered.

"No," Simon said stubbornly.

"Simon..."

"I want to look at you," Simon said. "That's all."

The corner of Markus' mouth rose wryly. "And you can't do that lying down?"

Simon considered his options. "Not as well."

Markus huffed at him. He reached for the nightstand, picking up a pill bottle and a glass of water.

He inspected the pill bottle inscrutably. "These might be old. I haven't been to a human store in four months. You should take them, anyway. They're better than nothing."

He tipped the aspirin into his hand. He tucked them into Simon's.

Simon tilted his head. "You've been sneaking into the city?"

"Oh, I have to," Markus said. "Sometimes. We take turns sneaking into CyberLife warehouses when we're short on biocomponents. Mostly we hit the ones outside of Detroit. It's less concentrated that way. And, well--I didn't know when you were coming, but I knew you were coming. I had to get supplies for you."

Simon's face was burning. He swallowed the pills to distract himself from it.

Markus forced the glass of water into his hand. "Don't take them dry," he admonished lightly. "Your throat's still sore, remember."

Simon chased the pills down with water. He put the cup on the nightstand.

He bolted upright. "My satchel--"

Markus gripped his shoulders, alarmed. "Why are you trying to hurt yourself? It's there, on the floor. It's still wet."

Simon cast his eyes around the room. He spotted his bag on the floor, as damp as a drowned rat. His spirits sank.

"Your sketchbook," he said weakly. "I saved it. I brought it for you to see. It must be ruined..."

Markus got up off the bed. He rooted around inside the bag. He sat back down with Simon, flipping through the soggy pages.

"They look okay," Markus said. "Did you ever look at the drawings?"

Simon shook his head. "I thought of them like your diary. They were private. I didn't want to look unless you asked me to."

Markus stared at him, equal parts exasperated and fond. He pushed the book into Simon's hands.

"You can," Markus said. "If you want."

Simon thumbed carefully through the pages. A few were so sodden, they had to be pried apart. The sketches looked worse for wear, but altogether intelligible. Markus had mostly drawn landscapes. A resplendent carnival stood out on one page, bright in neon pinks and greens. On another was a beach, glassy gray waves under a yellow morning sky.

"They're beautiful," Simon said sincerely.

Markus rubbed his nose. "They're spatially accurate. I think something's missing, though."

Simon closed the book tenderly. "I don't see what."

"You," Markus blurted out.

Simon smiled, a storm settling in his stomach. His ribs felt like fire at his side.

Markus looked embarrassed--or as embarrassed as his face allowed. "I drew all the places I wanted to go with you. I thought that you would be happier in one of them. You never...you never seemed happy, Simon. In that house."

Simon rested his hands on his knees. "I was happy when I got to see you everyday. I could have lived on just that."

"Not me," Markus said. "It wasn't enough. I needed to be near you. I needed to touch you, to feel what you felt."

Markus' hand rose to the side of Simon's face. He dragged the backs of his fingers down Simon's cheek. Simon shivered at the ghostly glide, two disparate entities making sense of each other.

Markus' lips parted. His eyes were faraway, even hazy.

"Simon," he said. "Can't you feel that? You must feel it all the time."

"Feel--" Simon swallowed against the handprints on his throat. "Feel what?"

"You," Markus said, rapt. "You get to feel this all the time. You always get to be with you."

Markus' eyebrows furrowed. " _I_ want to be the one who's always with you."

Simon laughed softly at Markus' serious expression. He couldn't help himself. Markus frowned, indignant. Pain splintered down Simon's side.

Markus' eyebrows twitched with recognition. "I told you to lie down."

"I'm fine, Markus," Simon lied.

Simon coughed. Simon doubled over with excruciating pain.

Markus wrestled him onto his back. "Lie down. Sleep is the best thing for pain. Just try not to take any deep breaths. I'll give you more aspirin when you wake up."

"No," Simon said weakly. "If I go to sleep now, you might be gone when I wake up. It might be a dream."

Markus hovered over him. His face filled up Simon's vision, youthful, mottled with freckles and boat light eyes. Simon didn't think he had ever felt this happy.

Markus closed his eyes. He pressed their lips together in a firm kiss.

Electric danced under Simon's skin. He tried instinctively to deepen the kiss. For a moment, he even felt Markus give in. Markus sank into the tug of his lips.

Markus pulled back. He licked his lips now, eyes blown open. His shoulders shifted tellingly. He was restraining himself--although Simon wished he wouldn't.

"There," Markus said distantly. "Now you have to wake up. That's the way it works in stories. The kiss is magic."

Simon felt unspeakably in love. "Are you a prince, then?"

Markus picked up Simon's hand. He kissed inside his palm, sighing. "Yeah."

Simon stroked his precious face. He ran his thumb across his lips. Cruel gravity had its way in the end, his hand falling at his side. He closed his eyes, succumbing to sleep.

*

He woke up again in two hours. A teapot warmer sat on the nightstand, a plate of eggs on top of it.

"They're powdered," Markus said sheepishly. "They keep better."

Simon sat up against the headboard. The oil drum burned in the corner, a merry red flame. Markus must have kept the kindling low. The room didn't feel particularly hot.

"Markus," Simon said. "You hate cooking."

Markus beamed at the reminder. He lapsed into stern contemplation. "You aren't eating enough, Simon. You're very skinny."

There was no point telling Markus that meals were unsatisfying, that sleep rarely held him. Simon had spent the last six years worried sick about Markus. There was never time to do anything else.

Simon reached for the plate, just to mollify him. "How did you get a bunch of androids to come live with you on a freighter?"

Markus sat next to him on the bed. He pulled his legs up. "I didn't. Another android in the junkyard told me about it. I think androids have been coming here for a long time."

Simon swallowed. The egg was very gritty. "Really?"

Markus nodded. "It was a shambles when I found it. I knew you couldn't live in a place like that. It wasn't conducive to the rest of their mental faculties, either. So I started making repairs. Nobody really stopped me. I kind of just...took over."

Simon chuckled. "Maybe you really are a prince."

Simon put the plate aside. He saw Markus getting ready to protest.

Simon preempted him. "Is Lucy okay?"

"Who?" Markus' face cleared with recognition. "The KL900. They're fitting her with a new vocoder in the medical bay."

"I'm so glad," Simon said.

A smile hinted at Markus' lips. "You can't resist an android in distress, can you?"

Simon wasn't very clever. "I can't resist you."

Markus' eyes went wide again. Simon tallied it up with the rest of the things he loved about him. Markus might know a thing inside-out, but act shocked over its rediscovery.

Simon opened his arms. "Come here," he said gently.

Markus slid into his embrace. Simon shifted them, lying down. Markus pressed insistently against his front. Simon didn't mind the strain on his ribs.

"It's not enough," Markus said quietly.

Simon laid his chin on Markus' head. "What isn't enough?"

Markus brushed a phantom kiss on Simon's neck. "It won't make sense if I say it."

Simon stroked his back. "Try me?"

Markus planted his hands on the bed. He pushed himself up, gazing down at Simon.

He said, "Sometimes I wish--no. It really won't make sense."

Simon considered him. "If you tell me what it is, I'll finish eating."

Markus was susceptible to the right incentives.

"Sometimes I wish only you existed," he said. "That's how I know I'm operating outside the parameters of my programming. It's not exactly logical. But..."

Markus looked around the room.

"If you were all there was," Markus said, "then I would know everything was good."

Markus picked up the sketchbook on the bed. "Like this," he said. "It's not you."

He tossed it carelessly on the floor. Simon was about to object, but Markus wasn't finished. Markus tugged at the blanket covering Simon.

"This isn't you," he said. "I only want you."

Simon let him pull the blanket away. Markus turned a critical eye on his sweatpants. Simon was not surprised when they went the same way.

Markus was methodical about it, stripping away the space between them. Slowly, he got rid of Simon's shirt, his socks and underpants. He left the medical tape on Simon's ribs. Simon suspected he wasn't pleased about it. When Markus was finished, he still looked dissatisfied.

"I can't get closer," Markus said.

Simon gave him a helpful hint. He one-handedly pulled the shirt up over Markus' torso. Markus was nothing if not a fast learner. He got rid of the rest of his clothes. A respectable heap had formed on the floor, the dissolution of their physical distance.

Markus' skin rippled away. Simon watched it recede like tidewater. His exposed white body was a mirror to the moon. Thin lines marked the grooves where the plating connected. His jaw, his ears were a solid gray. His serial number sat under his eye.

Markus knelt between Simon's legs. Simon cradled his face between his hands. Simon's smile was tremulous.

"There you are," Simon said. "It's really you."

Simon felt damp spots on his chest. Hotter than sweat, they landed in accompaniment. Simon had never known that androids could cry.

*

Simon slept fitfully for another three hours. Markus' arm, it turned out, made for an effective security blanket.

Markus woke him before dawn, oblivious that Simon was groggy. He made him dress in warm clothes and a blanket, then walked him up to the ship's bridge deck. They sat together in the big chair, looking through the glass ceiling at the stars.

"I had to do it now," Markus said, "before it fades. Remember when we were young? And you felt like you came from another planet?"

Simon said, "I still feel that way, sometimes."

"Well," said Markus, triumphant, "I found your star."

He took Simon's chin in hand, pointing his face in the direction he wanted. Simon wasn't sure at first what he was looking at. He guessed it was the particularly bright star in the cluster.

"Oh," said Simon, bemused. "How is that one mine?"

Markus was undeterred. "It's a binary star. Can't you see?"

"No, Markus," Simon said patiently. "I haven't got telescopes for eyes, like you do."

Markus went on, "It's two stars orbiting each other. They share a gravity well. Whatever happens to the one happens to the other."

Simon didn't know what he could possibly say. He left a slow kiss on Markus' lips.

They sat for a while in amiable silence. Markus' leg dangled off the chair. He pulled Simon on his lap, kissing the back of his neck, behind his ear.

Simon settled back against him. "We can't stay on this boat, Markus."

If Markus heard him, he didn't say. He pushed Simon's shirt down his shoulder, kissing it.

Simon struggled to retain lucidity. "Suppose I needed a doctor someday. I'd have to have a billing address. The same is true of taxes. And the rest of you--"

Markus was kissing the dip in his collarbone.

Simon squirmed pleasurably. "The land around this boat belongs to the city. Maybe not now, but eventually, the day will come when a realtor wants to buy it. What are you going to do then? You can't stay hidden on somebody else's capital."

Markus' arm tightened around Simon's waist. His other rested on his thigh, beneath the blanket.

"I know," Markus said. "I've been thinking the exact same things for the past six years."

Simon closed his eyes. He turned his face inward, rubbing it on Markus' neck.

"Simon," Markus said. "I want..."

Simon reached for his hand. "It's okay."

"I want to make a world where we can be together. Where no one cares, and we don't have to hide."

Simon thought it sounded lovely. Of course, it also sounded implausible.

Markus was already convicted. "For the other androids, too. Nobody should have to live in hiding. I just know we're all alive, Simon. There are androids out there who don't even know it, because nobody ever told them. If I could just tell everyone..."

Now he was veering into dangerous territory. Simon didn't know whether he was serious, or practicing his pillow talk.

"Would you help me?" Markus asked earnestly. "If I tried to spread the word?"

If he pursued this, Simon thought, he was going to get killed. He was going to get the both of them killed.

Simon felt too sleepy to argue. He didn't have much of a choice. Following Markus was his only talent, his life's sole aspiration. It wasn't as if the world they were leaving had anything in it for him.


End file.
